Murder by the Sea
by Jilsen
Summary: Frank and Nancy take a vacation. It isn't long before a mystery drops into Nancy's lap. This story is inspired by an Agatha Christie novel. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Not the Hardy Boys, not Nancy Drew, and not the inspiration for this story. I stole an idea from the late great Dame Christie. Thank you Agatha Christie!**

* * *

Chapter One

"Did I tell you about our last battle?" the man said.

Nancy wanted to say _yes, you've told me about every battle you were in in Vietnam_. But that would have been a lie and Nancy didn't want to lie to the old man. Poor man, she thought, in his sixties and desperate for company. He needed someone to listen, to hear his stories of long ago when he was young and a hero.

Nancy cocked an eyebrow and said, "No, I don't believe you did."

Mr. Graves grinned and launched into his story.

Nancy sighed, a deep sigh meant to release tension. Where was Frank and those drinks? He'd left 20 minutes ago. How long did it take to get to the bar, order the drinks, and get back? She wanted him back now, right this minute, to rescue her from Mr. Graves.

Frank was so much better at listening to the old man's stories. Frank asked questions and showed enthusiasm. Frank engaged the man in conversation. Sadly, Nancy did none of that. The occasional nod and smile was all she offered. Didn't want the old dear thinking she wasn't listening. Of course, she wasn't, but that was beside the point.

The ocean glistened a few feet away. Lapping waves tempted her and salty air brought a refreshing counterpoint to her faded companion.

Nancy adjusted her rattan chair, angled it so the afternoon sun didn't blind her and said, "How did your unit survive the attack?"

Mr. Graves smiled and lines crisscrossed his weathered face. Nancy returned the smile. She imaged a handsome soldier behind the gray eyes and white hair.

Mr. Graves droned on while Nancy lapsed into thought. Here she was on a Florida beach, far from the detective agency she and Frank owned with Frank's brother Joe. The trio had opened The _Endeavor Detective Agency_ over a year ago. Business was good, quite good actually. A recent case had left the detectives financially secure for the moment and Frank had suggested a vacation – some place sunny – just the two of them. Frank's father knew a friend that had a daughter and son-in-law that had recently bought a resort in Florida. The place was right on the beach. Why not give it a try? And so Frank and Nancy had. And here they were, four days in.

Tim and Molly Kincaid were the owners of this lovely establishment, the _Palms Resort_ , ten bungalows strung along a pristine beach. Tim and Molly were the same ages, 31 and 30 respectively, as Frank and Nancy. The two couples had hit it off instantly.

Tim, tall and lean, split his time between the accounting books and maintenance work on the resort. Blonde, blue eyed Molly was vivacious and outgoing. Kitchen staff and house-keeping were her domain. At meal times in the resort's spacious dining room, she greeted guests with a bright smile. She waited tables and served appetizers. Want a picnic lunch for the beach? Or a candlelight dinner in your bungalow? Molly arranged those, too.

With a start, Nancy realized Mr. Graves was staring at her.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked.

"I .. I think it's a very interesting story." Perhaps, she should pay a little more attention. She had no clue what Mr. Graves had said.

"Interesting?" Mr. Graves snorted, not a pleasant sound. "We sure didn't think it was interesting, not in 1968. No, interesting was not a word we used back then."

"Well." Nancy was at a loss. "We're safe in this lovely place. No death or destruction here." She gave a weak smile and wondered where Frank was. He could have driven into town and gotten drinks faster.

Mr. Graves laughed, a dry hack that worried Nancy. Could a person die from laughing?

"No death or destruction here?" Mr. Graves rasped. "There was a murder here not so many years ago. Not here at the resort, but around here, in this county. It was in the papers. Maybe you heard about it?"

Nancy shook her head. "No, afraid not."

"Oh." Mr. Graves looked defeated, but quickly brightened. "Molly says you and your gentleman friend are private eyes. I'm a PI, too."

"Really?" Nancy meant it sincerely, but did not think the word came out with the sincerity she hoped.

Undaunted, Mr. Graves plowed on, "Yes. That murder, the one in the papers, that became my case." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I have a picture of the murderer."

"No." A deep frown cut across Nancy's forehead.

"Don't believe me, do you?"

"Well, I …"

"I have it with me. The picture. It's in my wallet." Mr. Graves reached for his back pocket, but stopped. "No, you need to hear the story first. The picture's no good without the story."

 _Where was Frank and that drink?_

Mr. Graves settled into his chair. He had a captive audience and knew it. "One day I'm sitting in my PI office and in walks a doctor. He sits down and tells me a fascinating story. About four or five years ago the doc was working the ER shift at a local hospital when in comes a husband carrying his unconscious wife. The man claimed his wife had tried to kill herself. Said she'd taken an overdose of sleeping pills. Luckily, the doctor was able to safe the woman and the couple left the hospital the next day. The doctor didn't think any more about them until a month or two later when the husband reappeared at the hospital with his wife. She was unconscious again. This time she'd hung herself and this time the doctor was not able to safe her."

"That's terribly sad," Nancy said.

"Yes, but that's not the end of the story." Mr. Graves cleared his throat and continued, "Ahem. About a year later, the doctor attended a medial conference. It was several hours from his home so he stayed at the hotel where the conference was given. One night he went to a bar with several other doctors. They were all sitting around shooting the breeze, telling each other some of their most interesting cases. Well, lo and behold, a fellow doctor told a story very similar to my doctor's story. This second doctor told about a young husband rushing into the ER late one afternoon with his unconscious wife. The couple, according to the husband, were on their honeymoon and staying at a nearby hotel on the beach. The husband said the wife had gone for a swim in the ocean and gotten swept out to sea. According to the husband, the wife wasn't a great swimmer. Lucky for her, he was. He dived in, rescued her, and got her to the hospital. She wasn't too far gone and the doctor was able to save her. Sadly, it didn't last. A month later, she closed herself in the garage, started the car and died of monoxide poisoning."

Nancy squirmed in her chair. "That's an odd story. Are you saying the two husbands were actually the same man and he murdered two wives?"

Mr. Graves gave a wry smile. "The doctors asked themselves that same question. They checked the names of the two husbands. They didn't match. One man was a Jones, the other a Smith or something. But here's where it gets interesting, the second doctor had a picture of the husband. The story had made the local newspaper. _'Husband saves wife from drowning.'_ The paper made the husband out to be a hero. There was even a picture of the husband and wife in the newspaper. The doctor cut it out and saved it. The first doctor took a look at the picture and said that sure looked like the same man to him.

"Shortly after that the first doctor contacted me. He asked me to look into the case. He wanted me to find out what had happened to the man. Had he struck again? Had he killed a third wife?"

"Well?" Nancy asked when Mr. Graves lapsed into silence. Frank and the drinks were forgotten.

"You have to remember this was a couple of years after the events. The man could be long gone. No reason for him to stay in Florida, especially if he'd killed two wives and got away with it." Mr. Graves drew in a breath and blew it out. "Basically, I was working a cold case. All I had was the newspaper picture. The doctor had made a copy of the picture in the newspaper and gave it to me. It wasn't much to go on."

Nancy leaned forward, excited now. "And you still have it. I'd love to see it."

The line of Mr. Graves' jaw hardened and he became deadly serious. "Here's the thing. I've traced the man here, to this resort. I'm only telling you this because you're a fellow PI. I .. I think he might know I'm onto him. I think he saw me watching him the other day."

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. "Who is it?"

Mr. Graves lapsed into silence and stared into the distance. Finally, he shook his head and said, "Here, let me show you the picture. You can judge for yourself."

He wrestled his wallet out of a pants' pocket and fumbled through credit cards and cash. Finally, he found the picture, neatly folded. He carefully unfolded the paper.

"Here we go. Here's the man." He scanned the photo in his hand. "Of course, this was several years ago." He started to hand the picture to Nancy, but stopped. Nancy followed the direction of Mr. Graves' gaze. He stared over her right shoulder.

Nancy heard voices behind her. Frank and Tim's. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the two men trudging through the sand. Both tall, both tanned and dark haired. Frank carried two tropical drinks. Little umbrellas and fresh fruit adorned the rims. Nancy smiled and gave a little wave.

She turned back to Mr. Graves and was startled to see him stuffing the picture back in his wallet. His movements were shaky and frantic. He glanced up and gazed over Nancy's left shoulder. Nancy noticed his eyes were bright with fear.

She turned and spied two married couples, guests of the resort. She and Frank had met them earlier in the week. The couples were coming from the nature trail, a gentle two mile hike around the resort. It was a pleasant trail with plenty of places to stop and view the ocean, or check out the local flora, or watch birds. Nancy and Frank had walked it several times since their arrival.

The first couple, Gary and Lana, were newlyweds and in their late twenties. This was their honeymoon. They were all lovey-dovey, always holding hands and sharing little kisses. Now was no exception. Lana had her arms wrapped around one of Gray's and she looked up at him lovingly.

The other couple, Bruce and Bridget were in their early thirties and had been married for some years. Nancy was not sure how many years. At any rate, no hand holding or kisses for them. That time had come and gone.

Bridget plopped into the chair next to Nancy and said, "I'd kill for a drink. Frank darling, you can set one of those delicious looking concoctions in front of me." She smoothed damp hair off her sweaty forehead and beamed sweetly at Frank.

Frank shrugged and placed a drink in front of Bridget. The other he handed to Nancy.

Tim rubbed his hands together. "Looks like everyone could use a drink. How 'bout I take everyone's order? I'll sent Jason, the bartender, out with them when they're ready."

Bruce pulled up a chair from a neighboring table. "Sounds great and I'm buying."

Cheers went up at that. Before long, the party of seven was settled round the table, sipping drinks, and watching a gorgeous sunset.

Nancy's thoughts turned to the newspaper picture. Mr. Graves had been unusually quiet since the couples had joined them. The man of a thousand stories suddenly had nothing to say.

Earlier, he had given her a warning glance, a stern look that said, _The picture and everything I said, is just between us_. _Tell no one_.

Nancy had given a slight nod and kept quiet.

An hour later, Mr. Graves was the first to part ways with the group. He rose on stiff legs and said, "Need to get ready for dinner, folks. Thanks for the drink, Bruce."

Bruce lifted his glass. "Pleasure's mine. See you at dinner." To the remaining group, he said, "I hear there's a band tonight."

"A band?" Lana let out a breathy sigh. "I love dancing." She snuggled closer to Gary and smiled. They were playing footsies under the table, but everyone pretended not to notice.

Nancy watched Mr. Graves head to his bungalow. He was a frightened man. He had tracked a murderer to this resort. Or so he said.

 _I have a picture of the murderer_. _I think he might know I'm onto him. I think he saw me watching him the other day._

Mr. Graves had seen somebody over Nancy's shoulder today. Who?

Nancy thought back. Frank and Tim had come up behind her and then the two couples had appeared. Gary and Lana, the newlyweds, had been laughing and kissing. Bruce and Bridget, older and fun-loving, (well not much older than Frank and Nancy), had looked tired and sweaty.

None of these people seemed like murderers to Nancy. Of course, she could cross Frank off the suspect list. But still, that left three men as possible suspects: Gary, Bruce, and Tim.

There was another possibility. Nancy glanced in the direction of the nature trail. The resort's largest bungalow stood near it, a three bedroom, two bath affair that could accommodate a family of six. This week it housed a party of three.

Perhaps, Mr. Graves had seen someone come out of that bungalow. The three people residing there were quite unusual and interesting. One was Mr. North, a filthy rich octogenarian. Nancy had heard he made his money in offshore oil rigs. Two assistants shared the bungalow with him and cared for him. Miss Greta Swan served as his secretary and nurse. Whenever Mr. North was out and about, Miss Swan was always nearby. On a good day, Mr. North used a cane and Miss Swan's arm to toddle around. On bad days, he used a wheelchair.

Perhaps, because of her employer's constant needs, Miss Swan did not mingle with the other guests. She didn't sunbath or swim or partake of the nature trail, although it was only a few feet from her bungalow. The only entertainment Miss Swan indulged in was reading. When Nancy and Frank went for their evening stroll they often saw Miss Swan curled up on the rattan sofa on the big bungalow's porch, her head stuck in a book.

"Rather spinster looking," Frank had said.

"Yes." Nancy had agreed. "It's the old-fashioned clothes and how she wears her hair, pulled back in that bun. I think she'd be pretty if she dressed differently and let her hair down."

Frank hadn't seemed convinced.

Nancy thought Miss Swan was genuinely nice, unlike Mr. North's other assistant, Jeremy Hill. Ostensibly, Jeremy was a valet and possibly a bodyguard. Tall and brawny, with an arrogant swagger, Jeremy could easily be mistaken for a pro football player.

He was handsome, too. A real lady's man with dusty blond hair, ice blue eyes, and a charming smile. He often turned that smile on newlywed Lana. Nancy could see why. Lana was a curvy thing with honey colored hair and an infectious laugh. Quite a beauty.

To her credit, Lana only had eyes for husband Gary. She completely ignored Jeremy. At least as far as Nancy could tell. But then, who knew what lurked in the minds of others?

Nancy suddenly came back to the present. The party was breaking up. People wanted to return to bungalows, freshen up a bit, and change for dinner.

Everyone thanked Bruce for the drinks. Frank said he would get the next round, after dinner when the band started playing. That brought a squeal of delight from Lana and enthusiastic smiles from the others.

It promised to be a fun evening of music and dancing.

* * *

 _A/N: Oh dear, another story! I will admit up front that this story is NOT complete. I have 10 chapters written and I know where the story is going and how it ends. I just have to write it! Perhaps, with encouragement I can do that._

 _This is another Agatha Christie inspired story. Ten points if you can guess which novel this story is based on. ;) Of course, I don't stick to Christie's story. I took her idea and changed it here and there to suit my means._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Every table in the dining room of the _Palms Resort_ offered a magnificent ocean view. If one got up early – which Nancy and Frank had not – one could enjoy a breathtaking sunrise and breakfast. Nancy promised herself she and Frank would make breakfast at least one time before their two week vacation was over.

The food at the _Palms Resort_ matched the views and was equally magnificent. Tim and Molly Kincaid had hired an excellent chef. Nancy, a seafood lover, had not been disappointed once. Frank, more a meat and potatoes man, had declared the meat selections just as scrumptious.

Tonight, Molly Kincaid buzzed from table to table. She was a most gracious hostess and made every effort to ensure her guests comfort and satisfaction.

Nancy lifted her glass and sipped her water. Dinner dishes were being cleared away by the waiter. The band would start soon and everyone was excited. Nancy and Frank shared a table with Lana, Gary, Bruce and Bridget. Dinner conversation had been light, mostly talk of what to do locally. Bruce and Bridget planned to rent a paddleboat and go fishing in the morning. Lana and Gary wanted to try surfing. The resort had surfboards for rent. Gary said he had some surfing experience, but Lana had none.

Frank said he was an experienced surfer. In his teenage years he had lived near the ocean in a small town called Bayport. Maybe he and Nancy would join Gary and Lana. Frank could often advice and helpful tips. Gary and Lana gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Frank turned to Nancy. "How about it, Nan? Surfing tomorrow?"

Nancy smiled and nodded. "Sounds great."

Plans were made to meet around eleven at the rental shack. Nancy's thoughts immediately veered back to where they had been most of the evening – on Mr. Graves and the picture. She wished he had shown it to her. She also wished he had shared his suspicions with her. Mr. Graves had clearly been afraid this afternoon. Was that because he had seen the murderer? Alleged murderer, Nancy corrected herself. Mr. Graves was older, his eyesight might be poor and the picture was from a newspaper clipping. Those pictures were notoriously bad. Blurry or grainy and impossible to see any detail.

Still, Nancy was anxious to see the picture. Mr. Graves was at the bar. He had moved there after sharing dinner with Mr. North and Miss Swan. Shortly after dinner, Mr. North and Miss Swan had left, presumably to return to their bungalow. It was their usual routine.

Jeremy Hill had hovered near Mr. North throughout dinner. It was Jeremy's usual routine. He had wheeled Mr. North into the dining room and had wheeled the old man out at the end of dinner. But Jeremy was not gone long. He soon returned and took a seat at the bar. Now, it was time for his dinner. He wolfed it down and ordered a beer as was his usual routine.

All very normal, Nancy thought.

Frank leaned over and whispered in Nancy's ear, "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

Nancy gave a soft laugh. "Only three or four times. But don't stop, I love hearing it." Her midnight blue eyes met Frank's deep brown eyes. They held each other's gaze a moment and then kissed. A tender peck on the lips. An affirmation of their love and affection.

Nancy ran a hand over Frank's shoulder and down his arm. She smiled sweetly and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me a minute, I want to ask Mr. Graves a question."

Frank nodded. He knew what Nancy wanted to ask. She had told Frank about the picture and Mr. Graves' story while they were getting ready for dinner.

Nancy rose and excused herself. Frank watched as she walked to the bar. He wasn't sure how he felt about Mr. Graves' story. If it were true, then a murderer could be sitting in this room at this very moment. The murderer could be sitting at Frank's table. Frank gave Gary and Bruce a quick glance. Neither looked like a murderer, but then, looks were often deceiving.

"The band's setting up," Bruce said and eyed Frank. "I think that calls for drinks. If I remember correctly, you said you were buying."

Frank smiled good-naturedly. "First round's on me, folks.

# # # #

Nancy slid onto a barstool next to Mr. Graves. "Enjoy your dinner?" she asked.

"Yes, very much. And you?" Mr. Graves signaled to the bartender. "Would you like something to drink, Miss Drew?"

"No, thanks." Nancy waited while Mr. Graves ordered another gin and tonic. She wondered how many he'd had. Was he drinking more than usual tonight?

The bartender departed and Mr. Graves turned his attention to Nancy. "Has your young fellow told you how lovely you look tonight?"

A shy smile spread upon Nancy's lips. "Only three or four times."

Nancy was not a stunning beauty like Lana, but she was attractive and knew how to play up her two best features, her eyes and legs. Tonight's outfit had been selected with care and forethought. A royal blue top enhanced her velvety blue eyes while white capri shorts showcased a stunning pair of legs. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair was up and thus exposed a slender neck.

The bartender set a gin and tonic in front of Mr. Graves and added it to his growing tab.

Mr. Graves reached for his drink. "He's not the only man who's noticed you tonight." Mr. Graves' tilted his head ever so slightly toward the end of the bar.

Nancy followed the tilt of Mr. Graves' head and spied Jeremy Hill sitting at the bar nursing his beer. Jeremy's eyes flitted from table to table. He was on the hunt tonight. That is, until he felt Nancy's gaze upon him. Then he turned icy blue eyes on her. Nancy felt the power behind those eyes, a definite force coupled with magnetic charm. Jeremy knew the power he wielded and it brought a smile to his face and a heat to his eyes. Nancy averted her gaze.

"He's been watching you most of the evening," Mr. Graves said.

"I wonder why?" For some strange reason Nancy's heart raced.

Mr. Graves shrugged and sipped his drink.

Nancy said, "Is he the man? The one you're looking for?" She did not want to speak openly of the murderer. Alleged murderer.

Mr. Graves' face paled and his gray eyebrows drew together. "Miss Drew, I'm sorry for this afternoon. What I told you. I … I shouldn't have said anything." He reached over and patted Nancy's hand. "I think it best if you forget what I said. I am an old man who saw a way to entertain a lovely young lady."

Nancy sensed he was warning her off. "Please, Mr. Graves. You seemed so sure. I want to help. I have plenty of experience if that's what you're worried about. I was a detective with the Chicago PD before I opened my own detective agency."

Nancy's attempt to reassure Mr. Graves appeared to do the opposite. His eyes grew wide and he appeared fearful. "No. Please. Forget everything I said. Go back to your young fellow and enjoy your vacation. I … I didn't mean to involve anybody in this."

Nancy glanced at Frank. He looked worried. He saw the tense expressions on Mr. Graves and Nancy's faces. Something was wrong. Frank lifted an eyebrow in question. Should he come over? Nancy wanted to avoid that. That might raise other eyebrows. It might make others curious.

Nancy slid off the barstool. "Okay, Mr. Graves. I'll respect your wishes. However, if you change your mind you know where to find me." A warm smile lit her eyes. To anyone watching, she was a young woman showing concern and affection for a lonely, older gentleman.

Nancy felt Jeremy's eyes follow her as she made her way to Frank and their table. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. Why was he watching her tonight?

Drinks and dancing pushed Jeremy Hill to the back of Nancy's mind. The band was very good. They played songs from the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. Oldies but truly goodies. A lot of emotion in those old songs. A lot of heart and soul.

The evening was delightful and everyone enjoyed themselves. Everyone except Nancy. She couldn't quite get Mr. Graves out of her mind. That fear. She'd seen it again. Mr. Graves was afraid of someone or something. Oh, he'd tried to make light of it and tried to put Nancy off the case, but she wasn't easily dissuaded. That picture. She had to see it.

Nancy kept Mr. Graves under a silent vigil that evening. She watched him drink several more gin and tonics. Too many. Why? Nerves? Fear? Panic? Maybe all three. Something was bothering Mr. Graves and Nancy wished she knew what it was.

Mr. Graves left around 10pm, his gait a little unsteady. Nancy hoped he made it safely to his bungalow. At his age, a fall could be fatal or cause lifelong problems.

Frank pulled Nancy closer and breathed against her ear. They were dancing a slow dance. The song was something romantic, something nostalgic and poignant. Nancy's mind should have been on the man in her arms, not the man departed and on his way to his bungalow.

"He'll be okay," Frank whispered.

Nancy pulled back in surprise. "Who?"

"Mr. Graves." Frank smiled at Nancy's bemused expression. "You've been watching him all night."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me because I know you so well. I know you're worried about him."

Nancy's concern for others was one of the characteristics that had drawn Frank to her. She genuinely cared about others. She would not hesitate to risk life and limb to save someone. She had proven that to him on several of their cases.

Frank pulled Nancy close again. "We'll check on him when we leave … later." Not now. Now, he wanted her full attention. On him.

She felt his warm breath at the hollow of her neck. It did something to her, his warm breath. It made her heart turn over. It made her feel loved.

She nuzzled his neck with her nose and whispered, "I love you."

He held her tighter. "I love you, too."

# # # #

At 12:30am Nancy and Frank said tonight to their table companions and headed for their bungalow. A pleasant breeze stirred the palm tree fronds. Nancy and Frank followed the lighted path to Mr. Graves' bungalow. The outside light by the front door was on, but that was true for all the bungalows. The light was a safety measure. A wise precaution on Tim and Molly's part. No one could sue them for lack of safety.

No lights were on inside Mr. Graves' bungalow. Nancy and Frank quietly circled the bungalow and listened. For what, they weren't sure. Their efforts proved futile. The steady drone of the window air conditioner muted all inside noises.

Frank said, "It appears he made it home fine."

Nancy gave Mr. Graves' bungalow one final glance. "I'll check on him in the morning."

Frank took Nancy's hand in his and they walked to their bungalow. Nancy did not think of Mr. Graves the rest of the night.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you all for the welcome back! Oh and this is an unapologetic N/F ship. :) I doubt Joe will even appear._

 _I was very impressed that two readers got the title of the Christie story very quickly. A Caribbean Mystery is indeed the tale from which this one is taken. And yes, it is a Miss Marple tale. I tend to like her more than Hercule Poirot._

 _Why did I say, "Oh dear another story." Because this story's not finished and I know some readers hate to hear that. But rest assured I work on this story every day._

 _Lastly, no one proofreads my work (other than me) so some typos and errors may remain._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Nancy hurried to the _Palms Resort_ dining room. It was 9:30am and the sun was already blindingly bright. Frank had gone for a run. Normally, Nancy would have joined him. But not today. Today she was anxious to check on Mr. Graves. Her thoughts had returned to him full force this morning.

Perhaps, she would find him in the dining room enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Of course, he would be a bit hungover and in that case maybe she could convince him to show her the picture.

Nancy strode into the dining room and looked around. Not many people. No one Nancy recognized. Nancy made inquiries of the wait staff. Had anyone seen Mr. Graves? The old gentleman who liked to tell war stories. No, no one had seen him today.

Molly Kincaid swept into the dining room carrying a tray of fresh fruit. She took it to the breakfast bar. Breakfast was included in one's stay at the Resort and it was well worth the trip to the dining room. Nancy headed for the breakfast bar and Molly.

Molly greeted Nancy with a radiant smile. "Good morning, Nancy. I highly recommend the mango. It's absolutely delicious. Had some myself."

"Maybe later," Nancy said. "I'm looking for Mr. Graves. Have you seen him this morning?"

No, Molly hadn't. But that wasn't unusual, she said. Mr. Graves normally ordered room service – coffee and wheat toast – delivered to his bungalow.

"Did he do that this morning?" Nancy asked.

"No, haven't heard from him today." Molly stopped arranging the fruit on the breakfast bar and lifted her head. She eyed Nancy warily. "Is something wrong?"

Nancy saw the concern in Molly's eyes and tried to allay the young woman's fears. "No, nothing at all. I … I was just wondering how Mr. Graves was this morning. He drank more than usual last night. I mean, well, it seemed to me he drank more than usual. Maybe I'm just being silly. You know, worrying over nothing." Nancy felt silly. She was babbling like a magpie.

"Oh, how sweet of you." Molly smiled. "But I'm sure he's fine. He's probably sleeping late today. You know, after last night." Molly lowered her voice. "He did drink a bit much. Tim and I noticed it, too. He's probably sleeping it off."

"You're probably right," Nancy sighed. "Sorry to have troubled you."

Nancy grabbed an egg sandwich and a cup of coffee and left. Maybe she _was_ making too much of Mr. Graves' absence. In her heart, she did not feel that was true though. She felt a little defeated as she walked along the wooden path that led to her bungalow. She would sit on the porch and eat breakfast. From the porch, she had a good view of Mr. Graves' bungalow. If he did appear, she would see him.

Up ahead on the path, Jeremy Hill was headed straight for her. He wore an engaging smile and carried a stack of breakfast trays. The trays were expertly balanced on the palm of one hand. Nancy wondered if he'd been a waiter in a former life.

Jeremy greeted her salaciously, "Well, well, well. Good morning, Beautiful."

Nancy nodded a greeting as they passed on the path. Jeremy spun, quite gracefully, and began walking backwards. Thus, he kept Nancy in his sights. He kept the trays perfectly balanced, too. Nancy was mildly impressed with this small feat and paused on the path. Although muscular, Jeremy was lithe and agile. He was also checking her out. Rather boldly, she thought. She shook her head and turned to leave.

Jeremy's voice stopped her. "Where's your husband this fine morning?"

"Frank," Nancy put emphasis on the name and _not_ the relationship, "is off on a run." She and Frank were not married, but Jeremy did not need to know that.

"Ahhh." Jeremy put as much emphasis on that simple utterance as Nancy had put on Frank's name. "Well, have a nice day." Jeremy spun again and headed for the _Palms Resort_ dining room. The trays did not waver an inch.

Quite talented, Nancy thought then reminded herself that Jeremy Hill was a murder suspect. Well, at least if Mr. Graves' story was true.

Nancy wondered if Mr. Graves had been trying to warn her about Jeremy last night.

# # # #

Nancy sat on a rattan chair on the porch of her bungalow and ate her egg sandwich. She watched Mr. Graves' door as she ate and sipped her coffee. The door never opened. The day was getting hotter and the hour was growing later. Frank was still on his run. She and Frank were to meet Gary and Lana at eleven to go surfing.

Nancy roused herself from the rattan chair and checked her wristwatch. Almost 10am. Not too early to knock on Mr. Graves' door.

Nancy disposed of her disposable coffee cup and headed to Mr. Graves' bungalow. She got to the door, knocked three times, and waited. After a minute of silence and no answer, she knocked again, harder this time. Another long wait and no response. She tried the doorknob. Locked.

Defeated again.

The living room window was to the left of the door. The curtains were drawn tight. Not even a sliver of the room was visible. Nancy blew out a frustrated breath and trekked around the bungalow. The bathroom and bedroom windows were too high for her to peek inside. The bungalow, like all the bungalows, was on stilts. That put it a good two feet off the sand and put the windows well out of Nancy's reach and eyesight.

She looked around. Perhaps she could find something to stand on. Shrubs, palm trees, ahhh … a large rock. She set to rolling it toward the bungalow. Finally, got it beneath the bedroom window and stepped atop it. Of all the rotten luck. Still too short. She needed something bigger. Much, much bigger. She looked around and gasped. Jeremy Hill stood nearby watching her.

A rakish grin played upon his lips. "Whatcha doing, Beautiful? Trying to break in?"

Nancy felt the heat build in her cheeks. She was caught red-handed and red-faced. "No. Of course not. I .. I'm checking on Mr. Graves. No one's seen him this morning."

Jeremy nodded agreeably. He'd play along. "Did you try the door?"

"Yes. Of course." Nancy hated that she sounded silly and defiant. "That's the first thing I did. Twice actually. He didn't answer and … well, I thought I'd just peek in a window and see if he's okay."

Jeremy cocked his head and eyed her suspiciously. "Uh huh."

"It's the truth." Nancy stood her ground. Her bravado was returning. And what was Jeremy Hill doing here? Mr. Graves' bungalow was not on the route Jeremy would take to return to the bungalow he shared with Mr. North and Miss Swan.

Jeremy walked to the door of Mr. Graves' bungalow. Nancy followed behind him.

And why exactly was Nancy here? A hunch, a suspicion, and a picture she wanted desperately to see.

Jeremy pounded on the door, quite hard and quite loud. He fared no better than Nancy. All remained quiet inside the bungalow.

Jeremy pounded on the door again and shouted, "Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves? You in there?"

After several seconds of silence, Nancy said, "See? This is why I'm concerned." A sense of dread grew in her heart. Why didn't Mr. Graves respond?

Jeremy tried the doorknob. His large, muscular hand tried to twist the knob. Despite his strength, he had no better luck than Nancy had. The door remained firmly locked.

Jeremy stepped back and stared at the door. He ran a hand down his cheek and over his chin. Then he turned to Nancy. "Guess it's back to the bedroom window. I'll give you a boost and you can peek in."

Nancy nodded and they trudged through the sand to the bedroom window. Their sneakered feet made dips and grooves in the warm sand as they went.

Jeremy stopped beneath the window. He looked worried. "Maybe we should get Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid. They have a master key. Maybe it's better if they look inside. For all we know, Mr. Graves is just in there sleeping off a bad hangover. He knocked back a few last night."

Nancy had thought of this, too. But she was a woman on a mission and not easily swayed from a course of action. "I agree. But one quick peek won't hurt. If we find that Mr. Graves is just sleeping then there's no need to bother the Kincaids."

Jeremy stuck out his lower lip and nodded. "True." However, he seemed hesitant. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of Mr. North's bungalow.

"Do you need to get back to .." Nancy pointed in the direction of Mr. North's bungalow.

Jeremy dismissed Nancy's concern with a wave of a hand. "Nah. Everything's fine. Let's do this."

He went down on one knee and laced his hands together. His palms faced skyward. "Put a foot on my hands and I'll lift you up."

Nancy moved closer and did as instructed. She put one sneakered foot on Jeremy's entwined hands. The thought, _I could be stepping into the hands of a killer_ , flitted through her mind. She shook the thought aside. Jeremy seemed affable enough. A bit of a cad perhaps, but he was helping her out.

Nancy placed her palms against the bungalow wall for support. Jeremy slowly rose and Nancy walked her hands up the wall. She stretched her neck as the bedroom window neared.

"Can you see in?" Jeremy asked. He was slightly hunched.

"Yes." Nancy waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Then she saw him. Mr. Graves sprawled on the bed, face up. Arms flung out to the sides, legs spread. And then, Nancy gasped. A scream had threatened, but she'd rendered it mute with the gasp.

She jumped off of Jeremy's hands. It was an awkward move, from a height she had not judged well. She fell on her rump and stared up at Jeremy.

He saw her bewildered, wild-eyed look. "What? What'd you see?"

Nancy didn't answer. She got up and ran. It was a mad dash toward the _Palms Resort_. To the dining room. She had to get to Tim and Molly Kincaid. No, she should call the police. No, tell Tim and Molly first. Yes, tell them first. They needed to know. They should not be caught off guard, not in a situation like this.

Then the police. Oh, yes, the police.

Jeremy ran beside Nancy. "What'd you see?"

Nancy barely turned her head. "He's dead. Murdered."

Jeremy grabbed Nancy's arm and spun her around. She came to a sudden stop.

"What?" Jeremy held Nancy by the wrist. "How can you … I mean, how do you know?"

Nancy jerked free of Jeremy's hold and glared at him a second. Then pointed at her neck. "Knife. In the throat."

Jeremy's mouth fell open and then he cringed. "Good God."

Nancy took off running, harder and faster this time. She had to tell Tim and Molly. They had to summon the police. If only the sand didn't slow her down.

Jeremy was soon beside her and they ran together, to the dining room. Neither said a word.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you Guest, Max, Shani, and J for the reviews. To Guest: this chapter might have you yelling at your computer, too!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Frank strolled up to the _Palms Resort_. He'd had a pleasant four mile run. This place was gorgeous. Beautiful blue sky, ocean breezes, and crisp, salty air. He inhaled deeply. Ahhh, a person could get use to this.

Then he noticed the police cars. Two of them. And an ambulance.

Frank instantly thought of Nancy. This morning she had said she was going to check on Mr. Graves. Frank turned in the direction of Mr. Graves' bungalow. Police officers, four of them, were gathered outside the bungalow. And Nancy? Frank spotted her there, too. He saw the tension in her body, the rigid way she stood. Jeremy Hill was next to her. Why?

Frank headed toward Mr. Graves' bungalow. Tim and Molly Kincaid were talking with police officers at a discreet distance from the bungalow. Other Resort guests watched from a greater distance. Everyone was curious, but respectfully kept out of the police officers' way. Best to let them do their job. News of what happened to Mr. Graves would eventually reach everyone. After all, the Resort was small – only ten bungalows. Word of Mr. Graves' fate would spread quickly. That is, once it was known.

Frank saw Crime Scene techs with yellow tape and yellow number markers. This did not bode well for Mr. Graves. Frank's initial thoughts of a heart attack vanished. Crime Scene techs did not show up for a heart attack.

Nancy turned and saw Frank. "Frank, you're here."

Frank walked closer.

Nancy's eyes were red. She brushed away a tear. "Oh, Frank. He's dead. Murdered. I .. um, Jeremy and I found him."

Frank cast a glance at Jeremy. One corner of the Jermey's mouth lifted in a slight grin and he shrugged a shoulder. _Hey, don't blame me. Stuff happens_.

Frank did not have time to ponder Jeremy's reaction. A detective strode up to him and Nancy. Frank spent the next five minutes answering the detective's questions. Where had he been this morning? Which bungalow was his? Oh, he shared a bungalow with Ms. Nancy Drew, one of the people who had found the deceased. Had Frank seen anything suspicious this morning or last night? No. Well, don't go too far. The detectives might have more questions for him later. Right now, they wanted to interview Ms. Drew and Mr. Jeremy Hill. Separately.

Frank went to his and Nancy's bungalow to take a shower while the detectives herded Nancy and Jeremy to the _Palms Resort_. Tim had offered the use of his office for the interviews.

# # # #

Molly busied herself in the dining room. She needed something, anything, to keep her mind off of the events of the morning. A regular lunch service was out of the question. Molly wasn't up to waiting on people. Her concentration was shot. She was in shock and operating on auto-pilot. But people would be hungry and thirsty so she told the wait staff to prepare pitchers of water and iced tea and set up a servicing station.

Next, Molly had the breakfast bar turned into a sandwich bar. Law enforcement personnel and guests would eat for free. Charging people money was out of the question. Molly couldn't think about money, not today, not after a detective had taken her and Tim aside and said those horrible words: _He's been murdered_.

Those words rang in her head. Mr. Graves had been murdered in one of their bungalows. He'd been stabbed with a steak knife from their dining room. A weapon of means and opportunity. Easy to steal. Tuck it in a back pocket or under a shirt. Everything the killer needed had been provided by the Kincaids.

They'd only been in business eight months. Eight short months and now this. A murder. At their _Resort_. This was not good for business. Definitely not good. Molly feared guests would pack up and leave. They'd want to get out fast. Quick before the killer strikes again. What could she and Tim do?

Molly carried a pitcher of ice water to a serving table and set it down. Tim came up and wrapped his arms around her. He'd seen the shattered look on her face and the bleak, weary glint in her eyes.

He kissed her on the head. "It'll be okay, darling. I promise. We'll get through this."

She shook her head. "It's awful, Tim. Just awful."

Tim drew back and looked at his wife. She was shell-shocked. No doubt about. "Maybe you should lie down. Rest a bit. I can manage things here."

"No!" She was vehement. "I need to do something. If I don't have anything to do I'll think about …" She looked up into her husband's dark eyes. "I'll think about what happened. I'm sorry, Tim, but I don't want to think about what happened." Her moist eyes pleaded for understanding.

Tim smoothed Molly's silky, blonde hair off her forehead. "Of course, darling. Of course. I understand."

Tim turned his attention to the dining room. The wait staff were busy carrying trays of sandwiches to the breakfast bar. "What's going on here?" Tim asked. "No regular lunch?"

"Sandwiches, water, and tea. It's all I can manage," Molly's voice was small and childlike.

Tim nodded agreeably. "Fine. Understandable. How much will we charge?"

"Charge?" Molly looked horrified. "We can't charge the police. Well, what I mean is, … this is for them, too. The guests and the police. Seriously, Tim I can't think of money right now. It's all I can do to get lunch ready."

Tim felt he must step in and take decisive action. "I understand, darling, I do. But we can't afford to give away perfectly good food. Not at this early stage in our business. How about we put out a donation box? People can give what they feel is appropriate."

Molly breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, that would be fine." And then she smiled, her first smile since hearing those horrible words: _He's been murdered_.

Tim pressed a kiss to Molly's forehead. "I'll leave you to things here and get on those donation boxes. Have you informed the wait staff that we're not charging for lunch today?"

"I'll do that now." Molly pulled her husband into an embrace and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you, Tim. Thank you for understanding."

Tim smiled and left to find donation boxes. Probably something in one of the storage rooms, he thought.

Molly headed to the kitchen to speak to the staff. She felt renewed. A surge of vigor rippled through her. The dread of before had been replaced with hope. Tim had shown confidence in her decisions and compassion for her feelings. What a wonderful husband. His stoic demeanor had impressed her. He had remained strong in the face of catastrophe. Calm and logical. No, he wouldn't give away food. A wise decision. So level-headed and business oriented. He was always thinking of their future. A donation box was the perfect solution. The beautiful blending of both their ideas.

Oh yes, Tim was a wonderful husband.

Molly smiled to herself. She was lucky to have him. So very lucky.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you to those who left a review. Your comments are greatly appreciated. I love murder mysteries, too. I'm just not that good at writing them! However, I'm trying. We'll see how well I do. ;)_

 _Sorry if there are typos. I proofread, but stuff always gets past._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Nancy sat in Tim Kincaid's office. She on one side of the large desk and two detectives on the other side. With little prompting, Nancy told her story, actually Mr. Graves' story. She told the detectives about the photo Mr. Graves had mentioned and about the husband with two dead wives.

"The photo was in his wallet," she said. "You found his wallet, didn't you?"

Ellis, the older of the two detectives, said, "No, we didn't."

"Oh." Nancy was clearly distressed. The one item she had hoped would be found, had not. The one item that might shed some light on Mr. Graves' killer was missing. Taken by the killer?

Nancy sat straighter in her chair and looked both detectives in the eye. "Mr. Graves shared his story with me because I'm a private investigator like he was. He said he'd been working this case for a while and had tracked the husband to this resort. I believe Mr. Graves recognized one of the guests here. I think, he felt one of them was that husband, the one who'd killed two wives. Allegedly killed."

Nancy took a breath and continued, "Yesterday, just as Mr. Graves was going to show me the photo he saw something. Or rather, someone. I can only surmise it was the husband. After that, Mr. Graves tucked the photo away and tried to warn me off the case. I saw the fear in his eyes."

"So, you didn't get a chance to see the photo?" It was Gosling, the younger detective.

"No, I didn't."

Detective Ellis leaned forward over the desk. "Who was it Mr. Graves saw?"

"That's the problem." Nancy's shoulders drooped a little. "Several people showed up all at once. Tim Kincaid and my partner, Frank Hardy, came from one direction while Lana and Gary Simpson along with Bruce and Bridget Tipton came from another direction."

Gosling wrote the names on his notepad. "According to your theory, that gives us four male suspects right off the bat. Tim Kincaid, Frank Hardy, Gary Simpson, and Bruce Tipton."

Nancy waved an index finger at Goslins's notepad. "You can cross Frank off the list. I can vouch for him."

Gosling grinned at her. "Don't you think the other women will tell us the same thing? Their husbands or partners couldn't possibly have murdered anyone."

Nancy started to response, but stopped. Gosling was right, but still she added, "For the record, Frank has an ex-wife who is very much alive. She's happily married with two young children. But there is another suspect. Jeremy Hill. He works as a sort of valet-slash-bodyguard for Mr. North. Jeremy and Mr. North are in the _Resort's_ largest bungalow along with Mr. North's secretary, Miss Swan. That bungalow was in Mr. Graves' direct line of sight yesterday. Mr. Graves might have been looking at that bungalow. He might have seen Jeremy Hill."

Ellis grunted and said, "Or he could've seen someone further away that you yourself did not see."

Nancy had not thought of this. She swallowed her proud. "Yes, that's possible."

Gosling scanned the names on his notepad then looked up at Nancy. "That photo, we should be able to find a copy of that. A search of the Internet or old newspapers should turn something up. Did Mr. Graves mention what town this husband lived in when the alleged murder, or murders, took place?"

Nancy thought for a minute, a full minute. "No, he didn't mention a town. He said the murder happened 'not so many years ago' and it didn't happen here at the resort, but 'in this county.'"

"In this county?" Gosling wanted to make sure.

"Yes. 'In this county.' Those were Mr. Graves' exact words."

"That should narrow down the search," Gosling said and looked at Ellis.

The detectives asked Nancy a few more questions, but nothing more came to light. They politely dismissed her. They had many more interviews to conduct.

Nancy gave Ellis and Gosling her cell phone number and stressed the fact she was a former Chicago PD police officer and detective.

Ellis' response to this was, "Could you please ask Mr. Hill to step in next?"

Nancy felt a minor sting from this rebuke and gave a curt, "Of course."

Ellis was not taking her experience seriously and she did not like it. Not one bit. Why she had as much detective experience, if not more, than Gosling. What was he, all of thirty-two? Only a couple of years older than herself. And she had started as a teen, solving cases in and around her small town of River Heights. That experience counted, too.

These thoughts simmered in Nancy's mind as she walked down the hall to where Jeremy waited in a chair. He looked bored. A man biding his time. He had his cell phone out and had been texting someone.

"You're next," Nancy said.

Jeremy stood, pocketed his phone, and smiled. "They rake you over the coals?"

"Only slightly."

Nancy watched Jeremy retreat down the hall, open the office door, and enter. She wasn't sure if he belonged in the suspect category or not. He didn't appear to have a wife. Well, not here, not at the _Resort_. He could have a wife living elsewhere, one he had been texting just now. Or two dead ones in his past.

One thing Nancy knew for sure, she could search the Internet as easily as the detectives and she planned to do just that.

# # # #

Twenty minutes later, Jeremy Hill exited the _Resort_ office. Once Jeremy was out of earshot, Gosling turned to his superior and said, "What did you make of him?"

"Cocky and arrogant. Two things I despise in a suspect." Ellis stood, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a tissue. "There's something about him that doesn't sit right with me. Of course, it might just be his attitude I don't like."

Gosling peered out the office window, through the slanted blinds. He watched Jeremy trudge through the sand and presumably head to the bungalow he shared with Mr. North. Mr. North might require the young man's services after such a long absence.

"Think he's hiding something?" Gosling asked.

Ellis put his glasses back on and returned the tissue to his pocket. "Wouldn't be surprised if he's hiding a whole lot of things. Hopefully, his background check will give us more information than he did."

Gosling nodded and turned from the window.

"Let's get on with the interviews," Ellis said. "Who's next?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Nancy did not get a chance to search the Internet for information that afternoon. Frank wouldn't hear of it. They were on vacation, he said. They had come here to get away from cases, not take one on. Besides they had the surfing date with Gary and Lana.

"That's still on?" Nancy was surprised. Surprised she'd forgotten all about it, but she would never let Frank know that.

"Yes, Gary just phoned me. He said Lana needs the distraction. Mr. Graves' murder and all the police and their questions have shaken her up. She needs something to take her mind off all of it. Plus, I really was looking forward to surfing." Frank gave Nancy a pleading, puppy dog expression that made her grin.

How could she let him down? She couldn't and she never intended to. She laid a hand on his chest and smiled up at him sweetly. "Give me two minutes to slip on my wetsuit."

One dark brow rose provocatively. "Need help?"

Nancy brushed a light kiss on Frank's cheek. "Oh, hon, you'd just slow me down. Or sidetrack me. And we can't have that now, can we? After all, Gary and Lana are waiting."

Nancy's sweet smile stayed firmly in place as she headed to the bedroom.

"Well, I … um, we could …" Frank mumbled.

Nancy blew him a kiss and shut the bedroom door.

# # # #

They gathered on the beach, surfboards in hand, and donned in shorty wetsuits. The sun was high and hot and beat down on them. Relief beckoned a few feet away in the form of glistening waves.

However, they were here to learn before taking the plunge. Metaphorically speaking. Frank proved to be an excellent instructor. He took Gary, Lana, and Nancy through the basics. How to stand on the surfboard, how to use their arms and legs to balance, and what to do when if they capsized.

"And you will capsize," Frank emphasized. "Everyone does. It's part of the game. The waves get everyone eventually. It's how you react that matters. Remember, stay calm and don't panic."

Nancy noticed the strained expression on Lana's face. Was she still upset about Mr. Graves?

Nancy moved closer to the young woman. "Everything okay, Lana?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess." Lana chewed her bottom lip. "I'm … I'm just a little worried. I'm not a strong swimmer."

Nancy was taken aback. "Not a strong swimmer? But then, why would you .."

"Try surfing?" Lana gave Nancy a weak smile. "Because Gary was so excited about it and I didn't want to let him down. Not on our honeymoon. Everything's so new. We're still getting to know each other."

Nancy realized this was the perfect opportunity to learn more about Gary. "How long have you and Gary been married?"

"Oh, just a month." Lana sighed and cast a loving glance at Gary. He was practicing stances on his surfboard under Frank's watchful eye.

"How did you and Gary met?" Nancy asked ever so casually.

"Oh, I worked in a dental office as a receptionist. Gary came in one day. He was interested in dental veneers. He had a cracked tooth or something. Anyway, he wound up having several appointments and I got to see him quite a bit. He always talked to me when he came in and I kinda got the feeling he liked me." A shy, girlish smile danced upon Lana's full lips. "I really liked him, too. He was so nice and polite and I thought he was incredibly handsome. I guess you could say it was love at first sight. How 'bout you and Frank, how long have you been married?"

"Oh, well, um … um, we're not actually married. Not yet."

 _Yet_. Nancy had added 'yet' as though it was a forgone conclusion. She and Frank would one day marry.

 _Yet_. Nancy liked the sound of the word. She liked it much more than she could ever have imagined. A warm rush brought a pink glow to her cheeks.

 _Yet_. Never underestimate the power of words, she thought.

"He's handsome," Lana said eyeing Frank.

Nancy cast an appreciative gaze upon her boyfriend. "Yes, he is."

Frank was six-foot-one and broad-shouldered. The sun had bronzed his skin a dusty brown. He had a straight nose and rich brown eyes. Yes, he was indeed handsome. His dark hair was cut short, military style. He'd served five years in the Army and hadn't given up the haircut. Old habits die hard. He usually wore a frown that spoke of deep concentration. Today, he wore that frown as he chatted with Gary.

Frank felt Nancy's eyes on him and turned his head. The frown vanished and an engaging grin took its place. He winked at her, picked up his surfboard, and said, "Time to practice what we've learned, folks. Let's hit the water."

Nancy, Lana, and Gary followed suit. Each hoisted their board and made for the ocean. Gentle waves greeted them. Nancy noticed the waves further out did not appear so gentle.

Nancy saw Lana shudder. "Don't worry," Nancy said. "I'm a strong swimmer. I'll stay close to you."

"Oh, it's okay. I'm not worried. Gary's a strong swimmer. He was on the swim team in college. He has lots of trophies."

A strong swimmer? Mr. Graves' story echoed in Nancy's ears.

 _The couple, according to the husband, were on their honeymoon and staying at a nearby hotel on the beach. The husband said the wife had gone for a swim in the ocean and gotten swept out to sea. According to the husband, the wife wasn't a great swimmer. Lucky for her, he was. He dived in, rescued her, and got her to the hospital. She wasn't too far gone and the doctor was able to save her._

"Trophies?" Nancy lifted her gaze half an inch. "He must be an _excellent_ swimmer. It seems you're in good company today. Between Gary, me, and Frank, you have nothing to worry about. We'll keep you in our sights and safe."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Lana beamed, revealing a charming set of dimples, and waded into the ocean.

Nancy stayed beside Lana and together they waded deeper. The men were ahead of them, already waist deep in the sparkling turquoise water. Frank took a glance back to check on the women. Nancy gave a little wave and Frank nodded. He and Gary slipped onto their boards and paddled toward the approaching waves.

Nancy felt a surge of excitement. "Let's hurry," she said to Lana. "I don't want the guys to get too far ahead of us."

# # # #

Nancy's fears about Lana's surfing ability and safety were soon diminished. The young woman appeared to be a natural athlete. She rode her surfboard with daring and guile. Frank gave her a hearty thumbs up and some quick pointers on the beach when everyone took a break an hour later.

Gary, Nancy noticed, seemed a little put out by all the attention his wife received. Nancy thought of the college trophies and the accolades that must have accompanied them. Perhaps, being in second place, or outshined, did not sit well with Gary Simpson. Certainly food for thought, Nancy mused to herself.

The day was young and the two couples were soon riding the waves again. Everyone had more confidence now. Each person had experienced ups and downs, literally, but like all good students they had learned from their mistakes. A short time later, after another break, Gary took Lana aside and conspired with her. Then he called to Nancy and Frank and said that he and Lana were going out together. Just the two of them. They had confidence in their abilities now.

Nancy watched as the couple splashed into the ocean and headed out to sea. She turned to Frank. "I'm a little nervous about this. About separating. Lana told me this morning that she's not a great swimmer."

Frank's brow furrowed at this news and his mouth fell open. "What?!"

"But Gary's apparently an excellent swimmer," Nancy added. "Lana says he won trophies in college for swimming."

This news seemed to relax Frank, but only a smidge. He grabbed his surfboard and joined Nancy who was already knee-deep in the water.

"I don't want them to get too far from us," Nancy said. "I promised Lana I would stay close to her."

Nancy's expression told Frank how worried she was about the young woman's safety.

"This way," Frank said with a broad sweep of his arm.

He slid atop his surfboard and started paddling toward Gary and Lana. The couple was a good distance away. Nancy saw Lana gallantly paddling behind Gary. He had a considerable lead on his wife.

"He's too far ahead of her," Nancy shouted over the surf and wind.

Frank grabbed hold of his surfboard as he and Nancy crested a wave. They were in deeper water now and the waves were bigger and rougher. The wind had increased and Frank knew that with stronger winds came higher waves.

"I can get to her but I'd have to leave you behind," Frank shouted to Nancy.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"I always worry about you. I love you."

"I love you, too, but I'm a good swimmer and you know it." She had saved him once from drowning, but did not mention this fact. "I can handle myself. Lana though may be in serious trouble."

Frank's gaze shifted between Lana and Nancy. Gary greatly outdistanced Lana now. If she ran into trouble Gary would not be able to help. Frank was torn. Stick with Nancy or race to Lana? Who should it be? He knew who Nancy thought it should be. However, she usually put the safety of others well above her own.

But then again, Nancy was a good swimmer.

"Okay, I'll go," Frank finally shouted. He wasn't happy about leaving Nancy behind. It broke every safety rule he'd ever been taught. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise. Now go! Hurry!"

Lana had fallen farther behind Gary. To Nancy, it seemed he was leading his wife farther and farther out to sea. Was there a reason? A dark motive?

Frank set his sights on Lana and plowed through the choppy water with powerful strokes. Getting to Lana was no easy task. Swells and waves impeded his progress, but he kept going. He, too, felt a keen spike of concern for Lana.

Nancy paddled after Frank, but she was no match for his speed. The distance between them grew and Nancy felt isolated. Alone and small in the vast sea. The ocean undulated beneath her, buoying her one second and sucking her down the next. It was akin to riding an unpredictable roller coaster.

A large wave washed over her and she clung to her surfboard as Frank had instructed. The wave lifted her up and pushed her toward land.

She shook the saltwater from her face and paddled vigorously in Frank's direction, more attentive now of the waves. She had lost precious time and distance.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for the reviews, dear readers. And so the plot thickens . . ._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Lana struggled against the waves. She struggled to catch up to Gary. He was far ahead now. The distance between them was quite great. Immeasurable to her. He glanced back once or twice and smiled. Smiled as if to say, everything's fine, all's well in the world.

Not in Lana's world! Not by a long shot.

The waves buffeted and battered her. Tossed her to and fro. And worse, she felt as though there had been something in Gary's smile, something that left her apprehensive. That smile, Lana thought, had possessed a touch of … of malice.

Lana shuddered. Malice? Surely, that couldn't be. She was tired and exhausted and not thinking clearly. Gary had always been kind and gentle. Why he had never, _and never would_ , do anything malicious.

Or would he? The thought came unbidden. How could she think such a thing? Gary malicious?

But then, how well did she know her husband? _Really_ know him. They'd only been married a month. Had only dated for six months before the wedding. There had been a sudden rush to get married. Yes, she remembered it now, the _rush_ , the desperate need to marry. At the time, she had not thought of it as a _rush_. At the time, she had only felt the love. A mad, crazy love that knew no bounds.

"Why wait," Gary had said. "You're the one for me. The only one I'll ever want. I knew it the moment I saw you. Lana darling, I love you with all my heart and soul. I always will."

The words had moved her deeply. No man had ever bared his heart to her like that. Gary had written her poems and long love letters in which he'd shared his inner most desires. His hopes and dreams for a family. His dream of an eternal love. Their love. A love that would burn bright and radiant all the years of their lives.

Heady words to be sure. Words that had caused her to act, to accept his marriage proposal without hesitation. Lana remembered that day. Gary on bended knee. The pleading look in his eyes. The sparkling engagement ring in his hand.

Lana's mind was not on her surroundings. She did not notice the huge wave building. It rose to a magnificent peak, four stories high, and begun to curl at the top. The wave crashed down upon her and plunged her into the murky depths.

 _Hold on. Don't let go of the board._ Frank had stressed that point. Stressed it over and over. _The board is buoyant. It's your lifeline. It will pull you to the surface_.

Her lungs burned and she cursed herself. Cursed her lack of awareness. Cursed her stupidity. So wrapped up in her thoughts she had not noticed the wave.

At last, she popped above the surface, sputtering and gasping. She was alive.

"Lana!"

A voice. She was safe. She almost cried with joy.

Frank was suddenly beside her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her, and her surfboard, atop his own.

"Hold on tight," he shouted above the swirling ocean.

She did. She held both boards with an iron grip.

Frank held the back of the boards and guided them towards land. The shore grew closer and Lana relaxed a little. Safety was within reach. A few yards away. A few feet. Lana felt the sand beneath her toes and leaped off the boards. She ran through the knee deep water. She had to get away from the water. It had proved more dangerous than she realized.

Frank pushed the boards ashore and watched as Lana grabbed her towel and collapsed on the sand.

Nancy came out of the ocean and handed her surfboard to Frank. Her eyes never left Lana's dejected form. Nancy grabbed a towel and ran to Lana. The young woman sat hunched on the sand, shivering. Soft mews emanated from her and a tear ran down her cheek. Drops of saltwater glistened on her bronze skin. Nancy sat beside Lana and pushed wet hair off of the young woman's face.

Nancy offered words of comfort, "There, there. You're fine now. Here, let's get you dry."

Nancy spread her towel and wrapped it around Lana's shoulders. Lana held her own towel tight in her hands. She lowered her head and cried into it.

Gary burst from the ocean and sprinted to his wife. "Lana! Babe, what happened?"

Nancy moved aside as a dripping Gary plopped on the sand beside his shaking wife.

Frank took Nancy by the elbow and helped her up. "Let's give them some space," he said and guided Nancy away.

Gary took his wife's tear stained face in both hands and looked deeply into her eyes. "Are you hurt?"

Nancy watched the scene. Watched as understanding and love passed between the couple. And then they were in each other's arms. Gary apologizing profusely and Lana saying there was no need for apologies. She'd fallen behind and became frightened. She'd lost her head.

No, no, no. She didn't blame him. Could they please just go to their bungalow? She wanted a warm bath and dry clothes.

The next thing Nancy knew, Gary and Lana were gathering their towels.

Frank said to Gary, "I'll return all the surfboards."

Gary thanked Frank and added, "We'll see you both at dinner."

Lana handed back Nancy's towel as she passed by.

And off Gary and Lana went. Along the path to their bungalow. Lana's wet head rested against Gary's shoulder. He had a protective arm around her waist.

When the couple was out of earshot, Nancy said, "I think he endangered her life intentionally." Anger flared in Nancy's voice.

Frank picked up a surfboard and stuck it in the sand. "He may have misjudged her abilities," he said calmly and rationally. "I certainly did. I had no idea she wasn't a good swimmer until you told me. She did great as a first time surfer which led me to naively assume she was also a good swimmer. Gary probably assumed the same thing."

"Do you _really_ believe that? That Gary assumed she was a great swimmer because of her surfing ability." Nancy stuck her surfboard upright in the sand next to Frank's.

A frown creased Frank's forehead. "I'm saying it's a possibility."

Nancy huffed. Possibility? Yes. Logical? No. Not to Nancy's mind. Not at the moment. Anger shuddered through her. She picked up Lana's surfboard and stuck it in the sand. Thank goodness she'd urged Frank to go to Lana. What would have happened if he hadn't?

Thankfully, he had been near when Lana went under. Otherwise …

Nancy didn't want to think about otherwise.

"I don't want to fight," Frank said jolting Nancy out of her thoughts.

She looked up at him. "Neither do I. I … I'm sorry. I get a little intense when lives are at stake. We've had one death here. I don't want another."

Frank pulled Nancy into his arms and gazed into her eyes. A lifetime of emotions passed between them.

"I understand," Frank said. "Your caring nature is one of the things I love most about you. But right now, I'd like to put this case on hold for a few hours. How about, we return these surfboards then head to our bungalow for a long hot shower?"

Nancy smiled at Frank. "I wouldn't mind a hot shower."

Frank ran a hand down her arm and his eyes raked her body. "I know you didn't need any help putting that wetsuit on, but maybe you'll need some getting it off."

A good-hearted chuckle escaped Nancy's lips. "One thing about you, Frank, you are persistent."

He grinned. "Persistence usually pays off. At least in my experience. Besides," his voice dropped to a whisper and he brought his lips next to her ear, "I want you. And I want you to know that."

His hot breath against her ear almost undid her. And the look on his face … she knew it all too well and where it usually led. To the bedroom. Not that she minded. Now that she thought about it, that was why they had come on this vacation. For some time alone.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, rose on tiptoe, and kissed him. "I do know that and I love that you tell me. Promise me you'll never stop telling me."

He kissed her back and a thrill zipped through her.

"I'll never stop," he promised.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, so everyone's safe. Or are they? Thanks for the reviews, folks.! I enjoy those and they do encourage me._

 _To J: Don't worry about not having read the Christie story. I merely used her beginning idea (of the old man with a picture). After that our stories travel different paths._

 _To Guest: You are so right, I am trying to highlight each suspect! We'll see how I do._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The shower was lovely. The bedroom bonding afterwards was wonderful. And then, Nancy was exhausted. Totally and completely exhausted. She rolled onto her side and drifted into a much needed nap. She had not slept well the night before. Mr. Graves and his mysterious picture had occupied her mind. She had tossed and turned. She'd been worried about Mr. Graves and rightfully so. Her instincts had proved correct. There was danger afoot and it had reared its ugly head.

Mr. Graves had been murdered. A knife to the throat.

This thought bought Nancy awake. She stirred and batted her lashes.

Frank sat on the edge of the bed peering down at her. "I was just getting ready to wake you. Dinner's in half an hour."

Nancy stretched and exhaled a small yawn. "Good. I'm starving."

"Me, too. The fact we missed lunch might have something to do with it." Frank's rakish grin left no doubt as to what he was thinking about – the after shower activites.

Yes, those had been quite pleasant, Nancy thought with a smile of her own.

Frank rose off the bed and Nancy swung her legs over the side.

"I'll be ready in twenty minutes," she said and adjusted the white t-shirt she'd slept in.

"Need any help?" Frank's tone said he was hopeful.

Nancy laughed and shook her head. "No. The last time you helped me out of clothing we missed lunch."

# # # #

Dinner was subdued that night. The wait staff went through the motions, but without their usual enthusiasm. Molly and Tim seemed to be at odds. Molly was despondent and withdrawn. She kept to the kitchen for most of the evening and didn't mingle with the guests as per her usual routine. Tim, however, bustled about. From bar to dining area. From guest to guest. He did his usual job plus Molly's … and he did it rather well.

Frank and Nancy sat at the bar. Tim took their drink orders and then told them there would be no band tonight. Molly had decided to cancel it. Without consulting him, his grim expression implied.

"We paid the band in advance," Tim said as he prepared the drinks. "They're getting paid for _not_ playing." A brief snarl lifted the corner of his mouth. "We can't afford to throw money away. Not when we've just opened. Every penny counts at this phase. You know that." This comment was directed at Frank. "You guys just opened a business. You know how important it is to stay in the black."

Frank hesitated while he considered what to say. He didn't want to favor one side over the other. "Um, yes. You're right. Making a profit is important. But … well, one night …"

"Oh, I know. I get it. One night to honor the dead." Tim gave half a shrug. "It's the decent thing to do. But we can't do more than one night."

The last sentence was said roughly and empathically. Mr. Graves would get one night and only one night. And that he got grudgingly from Tim. Tim and Molly had a business to run and it came first. Profit was everything in Tim's mind. Profit kept the living, well, living. The facts were harsh, but true.

Tim handed Frank and Nancy their drinks. "On your tab?" he asked.

"Yes," Frank said. "And I think one night's enough. It shows your sympathy for the dead and his family."

This prompted a respond from Nancy. "I wonder if he had any family." She looked to Tim for an answer. "Do you know?"

Tim's dark brow lowered. "I haven't a clue. He never said anything. But then, why should he? He was here on vacation just like everyone else. Unfortunately for him his vacation ended … Well, you know how it ended. My main concern now is, who bumped him off and why. That's what we need to figure out; who and why."

"What did the police say?" Nancy asked. "As to motive?"

Tim stopped what he was doing and looked Nancy in the eye. "They said he was robbed. His wallet was missing. All his credit cards and cash were gone."

"Stolen by someone here?" Nancy wondered out loud. "Another guest or an employee? Or perhaps someone just wandering past your establishment?"

"That's the theory the police are pursuing," Tim said. "Random crime, random victim. According to the police places like ours are magnets for this sort of thing. A criminal wanders in among the bungalows and looks for a target. He breaks in to a bungalow thinking the occupants are away. Hopefully the occupants have left cash or credit cards lying around. The police think Mr. Graves was asleep when the thief broke in. The bungalow was dark so the thief probably thought no one was there. Unfortunately, Mr. Graves was there and he woke up at some point. Probably when the thief went for his pants pocket. It seems, Mr. Graves fell asleep fully clothed. One too many gin and tonics will do that to you."

Nancy imagined Mr. Graves passed out on his bed totally unaware of the danger.

"The police," Tim continued, "believe Mr. Graves struggled with the thief for a while, but it was futile. The crook had a knife he'd stolen from our dining room. The bastard!"

Tim seemed more put out about the stolen knife than about the murder of a guest. A most unsettling fact to Nancy. Callous to say the least.

"Anyway," Tim said, "the thief killed Mr. Graves with the knife and stole his wallet. That's the story according to the police."

Yes, according to the police, Nancy thought. A thief. Really? She did not think so. A thief would have come prepared if he intended on committing a crime. A thief would have brought his own knife, wouldn't he? When would he have an opportunity to steal a knife from the dining room or kitchen? It was an opportunity the thief could not count on.

The knife told Nancy the crime had been committed by someone knowledgeable with the _Palms Resort_. Most likely a fellow guest. To her way of thinking, the crime had been a spur of the moment event. The killer must have felt cornered or trapped.

Desperate, Nancy thought. Quite desperate. He made his plans quickly and carried them out just as quickly.

Frank saw that Nancy had gone silent. He lifted his drink. "Here's to hoping the police solve the case quickly."

Tim grinned. "I'd drink to that if I wasn't working. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. We will."

Frank turned to Nancy and held out his arm. She took it and Frank steered them to their table, the one they had occupied for the past four nights. Gary, Lana, and Bruce and Bridget would eventually join them. The three couples had formed sort of a group and sat at the same table every evening.

As Nancy took a seat she thought of what she wanted to do tomorrow. First things first; check on Mr. Graves' family. Did he have any? Surely he must. A son or daughter perhaps. That would mean an ex-wife. Maybe a mother or father, although those were less likely.

"Nancy?" Frank's deep voice broke into Nancy's thoughts.

She peered at him blankly.

"I know what you're thinking," Frank said gently, "and I feel the need to remind you that we're here to enjoy ourselves. The police have this case under control. You and I have no jurisdiction here."

Nancy smiled weakly. "Yes. Of course. Well, you know me …"

"Yes, I _do_ know you. And that's why I felt the need to remind you why we're here." Frank softened this statement with a charming smile.

Nancy returned the smile and leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I'm sorry. I do tend to get preoccupied with cases, don't I?"

"You do, but I demand some of your attention if that's possible."

"It's possible and now you have my attention. All of it."

"Good." Frank picked up a menu. "How about an appetizer? I'm starving."

"Sounds wonderful." Nancy was indeed hungry. A light breakfast, lots of surfing, and a missed lunch had left her famished.

# # # #

Nancy and Frank were sitting at their table, enjoying drinks and an appetizer when Gary and Lana entered the dining room.

Lana was pale and drawn. On any other woman the pale, taut face would have been a detriment. On Lana it was an asset. She was more beautiful tonight than any other. She was the picture of fragile beauty. A delicate butterfly that must be handled with care or else one risked damaging a wing. Gary was the one doing the protecting. Lana clung to his arm as he guided her to Nancy and Frank's table.

Frank rose and pulled out a chair for Lana. She murmured a soft thank you. Gary pushed Lana's chair in and then took a seat beside her. He swept his napkin off the table and laid it across his lap.

Nancy ventured a gentle inquiry, "How are you doing, Lana?"

Lana's jaw tightened concealing whatever emotion lay hidden beneath the surface. She eyed the candle flickering upon the table somberly, seemed to come to some conclusion, and turned to her husband.

"Fine." She reached out a hand to Gary and he did the same. Their hands met and entwined atop the table. A loving smile lit Lana's face. "Gary's been wonderful. I couldn't ask for a better, more understanding husband."

Nancy wondered, was Lana trying too hard? And who was Lana trying to convince of Gary's wonderfulness? Gary, herself, or Nancy?

It was a question Nancy did not have a chance to ponder as Bruce and Bridget stumbled in at that moment. Stumbled was the only way to describe their entrance. It appeared they had imbibed a bit before their arrival. Both were all smiles and waved to Nancy, Frank, Lana, and Gary.

"Be right there," Bruce said rather loudly and pointed at the bar. "Need a little pick me up first."

A broad grin spread across Frank's mouth. "I think he's had a few pick me ups already."

Gary looked slightly horrified. "I agree."

Bridget made her way to the table and fell into a chair. Frank's quick reflexes saved her from tumbling onto the floor.

"Steady there," Frank said. His hands were on Bridget's arms helping her settle into the chair.

Bridget's hands were splayed on Frank's chest. She lifted her head and gazed into Frank's eyes. "Feels like someone works out. A lot."

A bubble of jealousy rose in Nancy's heart. It gave her a moment of pause. It was so unlike her to be jealous. No need for it, not at all. She knew where she stood with Frank. Yet, here she was, the tiniest bit jealous. It stirred her to act.

Bridget's hands were still on Frank's chest and she wore a smile that said she was quite pleased with what she'd found.

Nancy cleared her throat and lifted an arched eyebrow. "Ahem. Do remember who he goes home with, won't you, Bridget?"

Bridget jerked her hands off of Frank. The look on Nancy's face brought her soundly to her senses.

"Oh my." Bridget laughed nervously. "I … um … I …"

"No harm done," Nancy said pleasantly.

She linked arms with Frank and smiled at him. He noted the possessive glint in her eye. He found he liked it. It made his blood run a little hot just to see it, just to know it was there.

Nancy shifted her focus to Bridget. The poor woman was still flustered and Nancy felt a need to put her at ease.

Nancy leaned forward and said, "How was your day, Bridget? Did you and Bruce go paddle-boating?"

Relief blossomed on Bridget's face. "Oh yes. Yes, we did. It was fun, but gee it was a lot of work. Hard work! Um, for those of us who don't exercise often … or enough." She stole a small glance at Frank. She had no doubt he worked out on a regular basis.

Frank met Bridget's gaze. "Catch any fish?"

"Fish," whined Bridget. "With all the paddling and steering and huffing and puffing, I just couldn't imagine fishing. I was exhausted after the first fifteen minutes. I told Bruce I wasn't about to try and untangle those fishing rods and tackle box and whatever else. Lucky for me, he agreed. And about then he spotted a nice little beach. We headed for it and had a wonderful time lying there in the sun and relaxing. It was so quiet and peaceful. It felt like we were the only two people in the world."

Bridget smiled at the happy memory. Then her expression turned sour. "Then we came back here for lunch and found they were only serving sandwiches. Can you imagine that? Sandwiches for heaven's sakes and a donation box to boot. What were Tim and Molly thinking?"

Bridget looked to her table mates for an answer, but no one had one.

"Well, Bruce and I needed a real lunch after all that paddling. We were starving. We decided to walk into town and I'm glad we did. We found the most wonderful Mexican restaurant. The food was simply delicious and the margaritas were to die for. I can attest to that fact quite clearly as I had three … or was it four?"

Frank eyed Nancy affectionately. "Nancy likes margaritas," he said, "and we both love Mexican food. We should check out that restaurant one night before we leave."

"I'd love that," Nancy cooed. She was cuddled close to Frank.

Bruce approached the table with two drinks. One he placed in the outstretched hand of his wife.

Bridget lifted her glass in a mock toast. "To my knight in shining armor. Thank you, darling." She took a healthy gulp of her drink. "Ahhh, not bad, but the restaurant's margaritas were far better."

Bruce sat beside his wife. "I told you they would be. We'll have to go back to that restaurant another night. Quench your thirst for margaritas and all things Mexican."

Frank said, "Nancy and I would like to give that restaurant a try, too."

"We'll make it a foursome," boomed Bruce with a huge smile. Then he peered at Gary and Lana sitting across from him. Bruce's smile faded. Gary and Lana seemed lost and forlorn. Lana, he thought, appeared a little pale. What was up with them, Bruce wondered.

"We can make it a six-some," he said haltingly. "How about it, Gary? You and Lana like Mexican food?"

Gary and Lana still held hands. Beneath the table their hands were tightly entwined.

"We, um," Gary began. He looked to his wife for advice, but she gave none. Instead, she lowered her head and stared at her lap. What she was thinking, no one could guess.

"We'll have to wait and see," Gary said unevenly, uncertainly.

Bridget had taken in Lana's somber expression, too, but elected to make nothing of it. At least, not in front of the others.

"I need to powder my nose," Bridget said. "Care to join me, Nancy?"

"Sure. My nose could use a little powdering." Nancy smiled and rose. "Want to join us, Lana?"

Lana shook her head. Nancy and Bridget walked to the restrooms.

Bridget spoke over her shoulder as she led the way. "What's up with Lana? She looks like death warmed over."

Nancy opened the restroom door and waited for it to close before explaining. She told Bridget about their surfing adventure. About how Gary had gotten far ahead of Lana and how shaken Lana had been afterwards.

Bridget eyed herself in the mirror and fluffed her hair. "Odd. Very odd. But then I always thought Gary was an odd bird."

"Really?" Nancy was intrigued. She had never felt anything "odd" about Gary. Not until today this is. And now, her imagination ran wild. Now, she imagined all sorts of things. Like maybe Gary was a killer.

Nancy applied fresh lip gloss. "Odd in what way?"

Bridget paused, lipstick in hand. "Well, he, he comes across as meek and mild and all that. But I wonder. I wonder if there might be a fire raging beneath that calm exterior. You know how these calm, cool, collected types are. On the surface they appear fine, they've got everything under control. But beneath it all some deep, dark passion is brewing."

Bridget applied some lipstick then stood back and studied the effect. Suddenly, she turned to Nancy and smiled wickedly. "Or maybe Gary's hiding some deep, dark secret." A short giggle burst forth. "Imagine that, meek little Gary hiding a horrible secret."

Nancy was stunned. Stunned at Bridget's assessment. It could be spot on for all Nancy knew.

"Well," Nancy said getting into the spirit of things, "Lana would be none the wiser. They've only been married a month. Only dated for six months before that. So, you see, they don't know each other very well."

"Ahhh, that is interesting." Bridget rested a hip against the counter and considered this news. "I do wonder about them. They're so young. They're not like us." She waved a hand to indicate herself and Nancy. "We're older. We've been married a while. We know our men."

Nancy grimaced. "Sorry to disappoint, but Frank and I aren't married. Not yet anyway." Why did she feel the need to add that 'not yet?'

Bridget's brows rose sharply and an impish smile graced her lips. "Living in sin, are you? That's what my mother called it. Bruce and I did the same much to my mother's chagrin. We lived together for six months before he proposed. He said he wanted to be sure I was the right one, that I wasn't just marrying him for his money."

"His money?" Nancy was momentarily shocked. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought of Bruce as wealthy or having money. Or to put it more precisely, he did not act as though he _had_ money. Sometimes, she would have said he acted the complete opposite.

"Oh yes. Shortly before he met me, he'd inherited quite a lot of money. I don't know exactly how much and I never asked. I got the impression Bruce didn't want to discuss it. I think there were sad memories associated with it. From what I understood the money was from relatives. Uncles maybe. I can't remember, but I do know there were _two_ inheritances."

Bridget was adamant about the _two_ and Nancy noted the fact.

Bridget turned and said, "Imagine that, two relatives dying and leaving you money all within a few short years. Strange and sad, isn't it?"

Nancy nodded robotically. Her thoughts were running along a different line. A sinister line. What if Bruce had inherited money from two dead wives? Wives whose deaths he had caused.

"Wow," Nancy murmured. Then she came out of her thoughts. She suddenly had questions. Lots of questions.

"Um, does Bruce work or is he 'comfortably situated' as they say?" It was a pointed question, but Nancy eased it with a joking smile and finger quotation marks.

Bridget dropped her lipstick in her purse. "He's a freelance author. He writes articles for travel magazines. We travel, see the sights, taste the food, and he writes about it. Then he sales the articles. He has a couple of regular clients. It's not hard work by any stretch of the imagination."

"It sounds like fun. I'd love to go to exotic places and get paid for it. Oh, do you paid for they trips?"

"It depends. Most of the time, Bruce picks our destination and we pay for everything. Like this trip. It's all on us which makes Bruce a little stingy with the money. Although some magazine do give Bruce a small compensation for his expenses after the fact. Other times, a magazine asks us to go somewhere and then they pay for everything. Those trips are quite enjoyable."

"I imagine they are."

Bridget opened the restroom door.

Nancy had one last question to ask before they returned to the table. "How long have you and Bruce been married?"

"Three years. It's a second marriage for both of us. I married a cad the first time around and poor Bruce, his first wife died."

"Died?" Nancy was stunned. "That is so sad." Sad and strange she thought if she was being honest and she was.

Nancy's mind was a muddle when she returned to her seat. Had Bruce possibly had two wives? Was that really where the inheritances had come from? Strange that Bridget knew almost nothing about Bruce's inheritances. This opened a new line of investigation for Nancy.

Frank's voice broke into Nancy's thoughts. "Ready to order?"

"Oh, sorry. Lost in thought again."

"You've been doing that a lot lately." Frank frowned slightly. His words were said as a general observation and not an accusation.

"I know, but I promise to put those thoughts away and enjoy the evening and you."

Nancy ran a hand over the back of Frank's neck. He melted under her touch. It was warm and soft. He felt her emotions flow through her hand and into him. Her love and desire washed over him.

He leaned close to her. "I like that. Your hand on my neck."

"I know." An affectionate smile lit her eyes. "And you're the only thing on my mind now and for the rest of the night."

Nancy was as good as her word. That evening, Frank stayed center and foremost in her mind.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. It is longer so hopefully that compensates a little. I thank you kindly for the reviews. They always put a smile on my face._

 _My thoughts and prayers have been with Russia and French and all the other countries (so many others) suffering with terrorists. I wish the world was a more peaceful place._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Although Frank was uppermost in Nancy's mind that evening that didn't mean she ignored events around her. Certainly not. She keep a close eye on those around her, especially Jeremy Hill. He sauntered in around eight pm. Time for his dinner, Nancy guessed. But where was old Mr. North and young Ms. Swan? Perhaps, they had elected to eat in their bungalow.

Nancy watched surreptitiously as Jeremy sat at the bar and ordered his nightly drink and meal.

Frank whispered in Nancy's ear, "Why are you spying on him?"

Nancy was momentarily stunned. Frank's powers of observation never failed to amaze her. "Because he's spying on me," she whispered back.

Frank's gaze went to the blond man at the bar. Indeed, Jeremy was watching Nancy. His gaze was strong enough to draw other people's attention.

Bruce, who'd had far too many drinks, said, "Looks like our man, Jeremy, has found someone new to stare at tonight."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "Yes, so it does."

"Thank God," said Gary surprising everyone. All heads turned in his direction. "I .. well .. I always hated the way he stared at Lana every night. It … it was rude and to be perfectly honest, unnerving."

Bruce laughed uproariously. "Well, no need to worry anymore. Frank here will take care of Jeremy for you. That is, if he keeps ogling Nancy the way he is."

"I want to go!" Lana's outburst shocked everyone. She had not said more than two words the entire evening. Everyone sat in stunned silence, even her husband.

"I can't stand that man," Lana spat out and then turned to Gary. "Please, let's go. I'm tired. I really need to rest."

"Of course." Gary helped Lana out of her chair.

Everyone stared wide-eyed and open mouthed as Gary lead Lana to the door. Gary had an arm wrapped protectively around Lana's back.

Once the couple was outside, Bruce turned to his table mates. "Anyone else find that odd?"

"I did," Bridget said and tossed her head. "However, I think they're both extremely odd." She gazed at her husband. "But you already know that." She and Bruce shared a private smile. A thousand private thoughts passed between them.

Bruce grinned at his wife and wagged his brows provocatively. "Oh, I do know how you think, darling." Then he downed the last of his drink.

Nancy wondered how many drinks Bruce had had tonight. More than usual certainly. She'd never seen him drink this much. Would he wind up like Mr. Graves? Dead before morning.

Nancy shook herself. Where in the world had that thought come from?

She tilted her head slightly and caught sight of Jeremy. He was smiling at her, a smile that made her shiver. Or was he secretly mocking her? Nancy sensed a shadow behind that sly smile. She couldn't quite pin Jeremy down. He was an enigma, one she was determined to unravel.

# # # #

Molly was in the kitchen, feeling quite low. She and Tim had had a petty quarrel this afternoon. As they were tidying up the lunch things, she'd told him she'd canceled the band. Tim's reaction had been instant and fierce and it had frightened Molly. Even now, she felt a thread of fear.

Tim had recovered quickly and put on a concerned face, but it hadn't totally convinced Molly. In her mind, she still saw the anger in Tim's eyes and the way his jaw had clenched and his back had stiffened. He was not happy that she had made a decision without consulting him and it had angered him greatly.

"It's all about money," he'd said, his hands fisted.

There were more important things in life than money, Molly had thought, but hadn't say so. Instead, she'd stared in disbelief at her husband and thought had little she knew him … really knew him. In the three years they'd dated, she'd never seen him angry or upset. Now, clearly he was both and all because she'd canceled the band. It made her wonder about his true motives.

 _You're being silly_ , a small voice inside her head said. Men always worried about finances. They had to. Generally speaking, they were the bread-winners in a relationship and most men (the good ones anyway) felt a great need to provide for their families, to secure a stable future for them.

Isn't that what he was doing? Making sure their business was a success. He'd mentioned that, said they couldn't afford to _give_ away money. They were taking a loss financially by canceling the band.

Molly had agreed and admitted she hadn't thought things through very well. She'd been contrite and apologetic, said she wouldn't do such a thing again. It had been shortsighted of her and all future decisions would be made together after some discussion.

"Communication," Tim had said stepping close to her. "We have to talk. We have to discuss things. You wouldn't want me giving everyone a pay raise without discussing it with you first, now would you?"

"No, of course not." She'd turned her head away from him to hide the tears.

He'd cupped her face in his hands and had gazed longingly into her eyes. "I've upset you. I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry, Molly. I overreacted. It's just that my parents didn't talk enough. Actually, they never discussed anything. I remember as a child watching them fight. They fought over money and other things. I often thought, if only they'd talked about it before hand then maybe they wouldn't have fought. Do you understand, darling?"

She'd nodded, his hands still cupping her face. His demeanor had changed. He'd looked like a little boy asking for forgiveness and she'd felt his sincere need to be understood. She understood now that his reaction had been based on squabbles witnessed during childhood. All perfectly understandable once you knew the background.

In that moment she'd thought, _he's a good man_. _How many men would explain themselves? Open themselves up like that? Lay their hearts bare?_

He was honest, caring, and concerned. She couldn't ask for a better husband. So why did she still feel a tingle of unease? Some small thought gnawed in the recesses of her mind. She couldn't put her finger on what it was though.

Earlier this afternoon, she had toyed with the idea of calling her mother in Denver. Thought maybe her mother would have some insights in to men and how their minds worked. Ultimately, Molly had dismissed the idea. She didn't want to alarm her mother or her father. They were alarmists, plain and simple. The slightest problem, or even the hint of a problem, sent them running to books and specialists. Their motto was: a solution existed, they just needed to find it. It might take them months, but gosh darn it, they'd find it.

To Molly's mind, it was an overreaction and she had to concede that as far as she could remember, her parents had never argued. Never. Not once. They were so technical and straight laced that not much ruffled their feathers. In their world, everything was black or white.

So, this spat with Tim was all new to Molly. She had no basis on how to react. This was a side of marriage Molly was wholly unfamiliar with.

What she really needed was another woman's opinion. Someone she trusted. Someone her own age.

Nancy, that's who she could discuss things with. After all, Nancy and Frank were new business owners, too. Surely they'd had disagreements about their business. Things couldn't be roses and rainbows all the time.

With her mind made up, Molly emerged from the kitchen. She saw that the dining room was practically empty. Only a few diners lingered over coffee. Bruce and Bridget were cozied up at the bar. The only ones left at the bar and they seemed to be having a nice time. Molly hoped they hadn't overdone the alcohol like Mr. Graves. Although, by the looks of things, it appeared they had.

This was something she and Tim definitely needed to discuss; what to do when guests imbibed too much. However, Tim was at the bar and hadn't cut Bruce and Bridget off. Molly wondered about that, too.

Yes, she and Tim had many things to discuss.

Nancy and Frank were not in the dining room or at the bar. Molly had missed them and it made her sad. She'd holed up in the kitchen the entire evening feeling sorry for herself. What a mouse she'd been. She wouldn't do that again and tomorrow morning she would talk to Nancy.

 _I'll see her at breakfast. She always comes in by nine._

Tim caught Molly's eye and flashed her a timid grin. She grinned back, feeling a bit more confident now. He motioned her to the bar with a smile.

Oh, how she loved that man. The man smiling at her, not the angry one from before. She walked behind the bar and Tim wrapped her in his arms.

He kissed the top of her head. "I missed you tonight."

She laid a hand on his chest and looked up into his dark eyes. "Sorry, I needed some time alone to think about things. And … well, this has been a wretched, horrible day. It's taken me a while to come to grips with all that's happened. Do you understand?"

He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Perfectly."

"Oh for Christ …" Bruce rolled his eyes at Tim and Molly's affectionate display.

Tim and Molly stared at him. Unsure of how to respond, or even if they should.

Bridget smacked her husband's arm. "Down boy, they're in love." She smiled sweetly at Tim and Molly. "It's nice to see young love. It's so pure and untainted."

Tim felt he and Molly were being made fun of and didn't like it. He wanted to say something, but words failed him. Well, words that wouldn't offend a guest.

Bridget slid off the barstool and patted her husband's shoulder. "Let's go. I'm beyond exhausted. All that paddling today has worn me out."

And too many drinks, Tim wanted to add, but held his tongue. Best to let them go. Don't make waves with the guests. That certainly wouldn't be good for business.

Tim and Molly watched Bruce and Bridget stagger to the door. Tim thought they might wind up scraping Bridget off the floor. She clung to Bruce and without his support she would never have made it.

"That reminds me," Molly said when the door shut behind Bruce and Bridget, "we need to discuss what to do when guests drink too much. This has happened to us twice now."

Tim pulled a face. "Can it wait, Mol? We have a lot of clean up and I'm dead on my feet."

"Of course. I didn't mean right this minute." Did she sound grumpy? Petty?

She hadn't meant to snap at him and he had every right to be tired. He'd carried the workload tonight. He'd managed the bar _and_ dining room. What had she done? Sulk in the kitchen.

Well, tomorrow things would be different. She'd gotten her head on straight tonight and her confidence back. From now on she would do her share of the workload and then some. Things would be even better after she talked to Nancy.

Awash with a new sense of purpose and renewed vigor, Molly filled a small bucket with soapy water and set to cleaning tables.

# # # #

He awoke at two in the morning. The bungalow felt small and tight, like there wasn't enough air. He needed to get out and get some fresh air. A walk on the beach should do the trick.

He pulled on shorts and a t-shirt and quietly exited the bungalow. The moon was on its descent. It hung low over the ocean and cast a silvery glow upon the water. Waves lapped gently along the shore. It was beautiful here. Very beautiful and quiet.

However, just because a place was beautiful didn't mean bad things didn't happen there. This he knew all too well. He was the reason some of those bad things had happened and he did not regret any of them.

Circumstances had to be considered when contemplating a crime. Circumstances here at the _Resort_ were special, but then, circumstances usually were. He'd had to weigh the options: time and place, opportunity and means. He'd done all that and had made his plans accordingly. He'd struck without warning, quick and fast. _Like a thief in the night_.

The old adage made him smile.

His new life must be protected. That fool Graves and his photo had been a threat. Well, the threat was gone, eliminated. Graves would never speak again and the photo was destroyed. It could never harm him.

If a picture was worth a thousand words, then those thousands were forever silenced.

He had only one more person to silence … forever.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Nancy did not sleep well that night. Thoughts and patterns shifted in her dreams. Ideas and deductions drifted through her mind … and with those deductions came fear, real fear. The fear that time was running out.

Nancy was on a journey to the truth, a journey to unmask a killer and she must stop him before he struck again.

The next thing Nancy knew pale sunlight was seeping around the edges of the curtains and seagulls cawed in the distance. Lips kissed her bare shoulder and roused her from her sleep. Certainly a pleasant way to awaken. The lips moved to her neck and worked their magic. Next they moved to her ear. Those lips should be illegal. The things they were doing were sinfully delicious. Nancy thought she may have moaned at that point. And at that most delicate point, Frank took full advantage. Not that Nancy minded. It was a wondrous way to start the day.

An hour later, Nancy was in the shower, awash in shampoo and soap.

Frank opened the bathroom door and poked his head into the small room. "Nan, there's something I have to pick up at the office. I'll meet you in the dining room in an hour, 'kay?"

She rinsed shampoo from her hair and sputtered, "Sure, no problem." Now, what in the world was he up to?

# # # #

Nancy entered the dining room and took a table by the window. The atmosphere today was relaxed, the way it should be at a beach resort. Or maybe the guests were subdued after the events of yesterday. Deaths had that effect on people. Even the death of those unrelated.

Nancy pushed thoughts of death from her mind and admired the ocean view as she unfolded her napkin. A waiter appeared and filled her mug with steaming coffee. She thanked him and he moved on to other guests. The breakfast buffet beckoned with its aromas of eggs, pancakes, and bacon. Perhaps, a little something while she waited for Frank. Given the morning activities it was no surprise she was hungry.

As she headed to the buffet table her gaze was drawn to Jeremy Hill. He sat at the far end of the bar counter in his usual spot whether the bar was opened or closed. Jeremy Hill appeared to be a man of habit. Or had he simply lain claim to that spot? It was a good spot. Perched on the barstool, Jeremy had an excellent view of the entire dining room. He could see anyone who entered or left. He could even see beyond to the grounds outside.

Nancy felt his assessing gaze roam over her. Every inch of her. His mouth was set in a fixed smile. A smile she did not like or trust. No, she most certainly did not trust that smile.

Jeremy pushed his empty plate aside, slide off the barstool and walked toward her. His smile grew with each step. Nancy steeled herself. Why did he rattle her so? She had dealt with far more dangerous men than Jeremy Hill in her career. She frowned. Was he even dangerous?

"Morning, Ms. Drew." His piercing blue eyes devoured her.

"Good morning, Mr. Hill." She reached for a plate and tried to ignore him. Maybe he would take the hint and leave. She was here for breakfast, not idle chitchat.

No such luck.

Jeremy got right beside her. His arm brushed her shoulder. "Find any dead bodies this morning?"

She glared at him. "No." She thought his comment inappropriate, but did not wish to confront him.

He chuckled under his breath. "Ahh, well, the day's still young."

Nancy said nothing, just dished herself some scrambled eggs.

Jeremy checked over his shoulder in case someone was listening then turned back to Nancy. His voice was low and conspiratorial, "Mr. and Mrs. Simpson were in earlier."

Gary and Lana, Nancy thought as she moved down the buffet table. Jeremy trailed her and watched as she scooped fruit onto her plate.

"Mrs. Simpson looked better today," he said. "Not as pale as last night. So we know those two are alive and well. It's Mr. and Mrs. Tipton we need to worry about. Haven't seen them yet this morning."

Nancy replaced the fruit ladle. Bruce and Bridget had been quite drunk last night. They might be sleeping in. But then, Mr. Graves had been quite drunk his last night on earth and look what had happened to him. He'd never made it to breakfast the next day …

Nancy slowly turned to face Jeremy. A single crease formed between her brows. "You're keeping track of the guests?"

Jeremy stared at her with a blank expression. "Aren't you?"

The comment irritated Nancy but mostly because it was true. She _was_ keeping track of fellow guests. Her motives were altruistic. She hoped to prevent another death. Her surprise came in the knowledge that Jeremy Hill was doing the same. Why? What was his motive? Was this all fun and games for him? A diversion from caring for old Mr. North? Seeing to Mr. North's needs had to be tiresome, the same dull routine day after day. Few opportunities for excitement there.

Jeremy leaned in closer and his hot breath seared her neck. "We could stop by the Tipton's bungalow and check on them." A wicked grin lit his eyes.

Nancy thought Jeremy Hill was an attractive man and had no doubts his charm usually worked on most women he met. However, Nancy was not like most women.

"Sorry," she said. "I have other things planned this morning. You'll have to investigate on your own."

He ran a finger down the side of her cheek and along her jaw. She stiffened at his touch. Every nerve in her body bristled. How dare he touch her in such an intimate way! Momentarily stunned, she gaped at him, lips slightly parted. A thousand retorts ran through her mind. She should rebuff him and put him in his place. But sometimes, actions spoke louder than words. Besides, she had no desire to create a scene in the _Resort's_ dining room.

Her lips settled into a hard, thin line and she carefully maneuvered her body around his. She ensured there was no physical contact between them and headed to her table. That's when she saw Frank. He was standing near the entrance, the muscles in his neck taut and his jaw clenched. If looks could kill, Jeremy was quite thoroughly dead.

Nancy thought Frank looked rather magnificent standing there, bronzed, straight-backed and eyes flashing.

Jeremy smiled at Frank as he exited the dining room. The smile was that of a naughty little boy, one who'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

Frank reined in his anger and his shoulders came down a little. Jeremy Hill was not worth the effort or energy. Frank realized Jeremy had seen him standing at the entrance and had wanted to get a rise out of him. Well, he'd gotten one. Score one for Jeremy Hill. Next time – if there was a next time – well, Frank would not be so forgiving.

Nancy sat at the table fingering her napkin. Two pink spots shone on each cheek. Jeremy had gotten under her skin and not in a good way.

Frank pulled out a chair and sat across from her. He laid some papers on the table. "Everything okay, Nan?"

"I'm going to mirror Lana's comment from last night," Nancy said. "'I can't stand that man.'"

A small grin curled the corners of Frank's mouth. "Don't let him bother you. He's not worth it." Then his expression darkened. "But if he ever lays a hand on you again …"

"If he ever touches me again he'll get a good swift kick in the groin." The pink spots on Nancy's cheeks grew brighter. "He would've gotten one today, but I didn't want to make a scene in the dining room. Tim and Molly don't need that, not with everything else they're going through right now."

"Very true. I just came from Tim's office. He's on edge. Two families have cut their vacations short and want the Kincaids to refund the remaining balance on their bungalows. I advised Tim not to give in to their demands. The families booked the bungalows for a week and if they decide to leave early it's not the Kincaid's fault. Tim and Molly don't owe those families a cent. The Kincaids are not responsible for Mr. Graves' death. There's been no evidence to suggest his death was in any way due to negligence on the part of the Kincaids."

Nancy shook her head ruefully. "Poor Tim and Molly. I can't imagine how hard this must be for them. Mr. Graves' death could, quite literally, ruin their business. You do understand now why I'm so determined to investigate. I want to prevent any more deaths here. Another death would sink their business for sure."

"I do understand and that's why I've decided to get on board with your investigation." Frank laid a hand on the papers in the center of the table and grinned. "And this is where our investigation begins. I had Joe do background checks on the two main suspects, Gary Simpson and Bruce Tipton. Joe faxed me the information this morning."

"Just two? I would've added Jeremy Hill to that list."

"I did. The name 'Jeremy Hill' brought up too many hits. It'll take some time to narrow it down to _our_ Jeremy Hill. For all we know that may be an alias."

Nancy lifted her coffee mug and took a careful sip. "I wouldn't be surprised. I consider him something of an enigma."

The waiter appeared and filled Frank's coffee cup. Frank added cream and sugar and stirred.

"You know," Nancy said, her voice barely a whisper, "we could add Tim Kincaid to the list of suspects."

Frank lifted an eyebrow. "You want me to? I can call Joe now."

Nancy blew out a sigh. "I'm not sure. Let me think about it. At the moment, Gary and Bruce seem our most likely suspects."

Frank gave a curt nod. "That's what I thought."

Nancy set her coffee aside and smiled at Frank. "I know most women wouldn't get excited about a stack of papers on potential suspects, but of course I'm not like most women. I consider this a wonderful gift from a wonderful boyfriend."

"Don't you mean fiancé?" There was a distinct twinkle in Frank's dark eyes.

Nancy cocked her head. She was slightly confused and mildly amused. Was Frank hinting at something? "Fiancé? Whatever do you mean?"

A devilish grin played upon Frank's lips. "Talk around the _Resort_ is that we're engaged. Currently living in sin, but thankfully, engaged to be married."

"Ahem, interesting." Nancy bowed her head and sipped her coffee. Anything to avoid Frank's penetrating gaze. Bridget had used the phrase _living in sin_ last night when she and Nancy went to the restroom. How had Frank heard the phrase? Had he talked to Bridget or Bruce this morning?

"Wonder where people got such an idea?" Frank said. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea. Being engaged, that is. What about you, Nan?" His voice dropped into the lower register. "How do you feel about being engaged?"

Nancy's head came up, slow and cautious. "Frank Hardy, are you proposing?"

He reached across the table, took her hand in his, and squeezed gently. "Would you like me to propose?"

Nancy's heart skipped a beat. Part of her did want a proposal, very much. However, another part did not, not here, not like this. "I … well, I. I think it's rather sudden."

Frank withdrew his hand and went very still. "Yeah, it is. I was just … I didn't mean anything …"

She'd hurt his feelings and hadn't meant to. Frank was sensitive in matters of the heart. Something she was just learning. He'd been hurt once before and usually proceeded with extreme caution where love was concerned.

She took his hand and met his eyes. "I'm not saying I never want a proposal, Frank. I … I just want the time, and mood, and everything to be right. We haven't known each other all that long and, well, to be perfectly honest, I want the proposal to be romantic. I want you on bended knee with a huge bouquet of flowers on a sunlit beach. I want to be swept off my feet."

She smiled and Frank wondered if she was teasing him. Maybe she was, just a little.

He rubbed a thumb across her knuckles and laughed softly. "In other words, nothing special."

She smacked his hand with playful indignation. "Frank Hardy!"

Frank held up a hand. "Just joking." Then he put his forearms on the table, leaned forward, and took both her hands in his. His voice was rough and husky. "Nancy Drew, I solemnly swear to sweep you off your feet when I propose."

The heat traveled up her neck and to her cheeks. She blushed a lovely shade of crimson. She dipped her head and studied their hands. His large ones, like protective blankets, covered her small ones. In that moment, she wanted his hands always on hers and she wanted him always in her life.

He saw her blush and knew he'd set things right. He removed his hands from hers and sipped his coffee. "Anyway, I saw Bruce this morning. He mentioned you as my fiancée."

Nancy forked some of her scrambled eggs. "Bridget must've jumped to that conclusion last night after she and I talked. I certainly didn't say we were engaged. Not that I'm opposed to the idea or others assuming it to be so."

"Nor am I." He speared a piece of fruit on her plate, brought it to his mouth and chewed.

"You saw Bruce this morning?" Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

"Yes, when I was headed to the office to get the background checks." He inclined his head toward the papers on the table. "I saw Bruce sprawled on a beach lounger. Thought he might be sick or something, so I walked over to check on him. He sat up when he heard me coming and, without any prompting, went into a lengthy explanation for his presence. Said Bridget had had an awful night. Too much alcohol – no surprise there – and that he'd finally walked into town and gotten some medicine for her. She took it around one or two in the morning and finally dozed off. But by then, he was too wound up to sleep. So he left the bungalow and wandered the beach until he got tired. At some point, he said he laid down on the lounger and fell asleep."

Nancy stared at Frank, unblinking. "One of the husbands Mr. Graves told me about tried to kill his wife with sleeping pills."

"You don't think …"

"According to Mr. Graves the husband claimed his wife had taken an overdose of sleeping pills." It would be so easy. Seen as an unfortunate accident.

Nancy remembered Mr. Graves' words: _The man claimed his wife had tried to kill herself. Said she'd taken an overdose of sleeping pills. Luckily, the doctor was able to safe the woman and the couple left the hospital the next day. The doctor didn't think any more about them until a month or two later when the husband reappeared at the hospital with his wife. She was unconscious again. This time she'd hung herself and this time the doctor was not able to safe her._

Nancy tossed her napkin on the table and rose. "We have to get to Bridget."

Frank got to his feet and reached for Nancy's arm. "Wait a second. You don't honestly think …"

A waiter materialized next to Frank and broke into the conversation, "Please, sir. Please, miss. The Kincaids need you."

Frank and Nancy gawked at the waiter. His demeanor indicated he was anxious and distressed. He was an older man with impeccable manners, usually calm and methodical and not given to flights' of fancy. Clearly something was amiss.

"What is it?" Nancy said, concern now wrinkling her brow.

The waiter glanced discreetly around the dining room then turned back to Frank and Nancy. "Please, discretion is important. If you would, just follow me?"

He gestured at the hall that led to the Kincaid's office. Frank scooped the papers off the table, folded them, and slipped them into the back pocket of his shorts. He and Nancy then followed the silver haired waiter to the hallway.

Once they were safe from prying ears, the waiter explained, "There's been an accident. The Kincaids would like your assistance. They're waiting for you at the Tipton's bungalow."

"Bridget," Nancy whispered under her breath. She'd grown pale.

"Thank you," Frank said to the waiter and took Nancy by the elbow. "Let's go."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Frank and Nancy jogged to Bruce and Bridget's bungalow. Jogged as though they were out for a morning run and not on their way to a potential crime scene.

They passed Mr. Graves' bungalow. Crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze. It barred entrance to the bungalow and was a vivid reminder that a killer was on the loose.

Was Bruce Tipton the killer? Nancy thought they would soon know the answer. At least she hoped so.

She and Frank came upon the Tipton's bungalow. Tim and Bruce were outside on the porch. Bruce was hunched in one of the wicker chairs, his head in his hands.

"I can't believe it," he moaned. "She was fine when I left."

Tim stood behind Bruce. He had a hand on the poor man's back offering comfort and support.

"Everything will be fine. An ambulance is on the way," Tim said.

"Hello," Frank called. "What's up?"

Tim lifted his head. Genuine relief lit his face when he saw Frank and Nancy. "Just a bit of … of an accident."

This was the second use of the word _accident_ and Nancy wondered if this were a _true_ accident.

"What happened?" Nancy's voice was edged with steel. She was determined to get to the bottom of things. No more beating around the bush. She needed answers and fast.

Tim was momentarily stunned by her harsh tone, but finally answered, "It's Bridget. Seems she took some medicine last night and had a bad reaction. Molly's with her." He motioned toward the bungalow door. "I think Molly would appreciate your help."

"Of course." Nancy was through the door like a shot.

The bungalow's interior was gloomy. The curtains were pulled tight at every window. Only the open doorway shed light within, a long rectangular beam in which dust motes swirled. Nancy followed the blade of sunlight to the bedroom. She paused in the doorway and surveyed the scene. A bedside table lamp cast a feeble glow over the room.

Bridget was curled on her side on the bed, the sheets tangled around her waist and legs. Her short, dark hair was matted and damp. It stuck to her head as though she'd sweated profusely. Molly sat on the edge of the bed, a hand on Bridget's shoulder gently shaking her and whispering Bridget's name.

Molly looked up, saw Nancy, and let out a sigh of relief.

Nancy rushed to the bed. "Is she conscious?"

"Barely." Molly's lowered lip trembled. "Tim called for an ambulance."

"I know." Nancy exchanged places with Molly. "We need some light in here. Can you open the curtains, Molly?"

Molly flung open the curtains and sunlight poured in. Nancy squinted in the brightness as she pressed two fingers against Bridget's neck. The pulse was faint and erratic. Nancy laid the back of her hand on Bridget's brow. The skin was cold and clammy and Bridget's breathing was dangerously shallow.

"She's in shock," Nancy said over her shoulder to Molly. "We need to cover her. Get her warm."

"There's a blanket in the closet." Molly threw open the closet doors and yanked out a blanket.

Nancy rolled Bridget onto her back and checked her airways. Nose and throat were thankfully clear. Nancy placed pillows under Bridget's legs and spread the bedsheets neatly atop her. Covered her up to her chin. Molly laid the blanket over Bridget and, with Nancy's help, tucked it around the ghoulishly, pale form of Bridget Tipton.

Nancy checked Bridget's pulse again. Still faint but perhaps a wee bit more steady.

"How is she?" Molly asked, a catch in her voice.

"Stable but she needs medical attention. Let's hope that ambulance gets here soon."

"We can't afford another death. Not now. Not so soon after …"

"She's not going to die," Nancy said firmly. "She could go into a coma, but she'll live."

Molly had tears in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I think she'll be okay," Nancy said in a soothing tone. "She's warm and stable. We've done everything we can. Now we wait."

"Thank you." Molly gave Nancy a hug. "I … I was so terrified. I didn't know what to do. How to help." She dabbed at a tear at the corner of her eye. "You seemed so confident, Nancy. You knew exactly what to do. I was a helpless wreck until you arrived."

Nancy studied Molly's face and realized the young woman was ready to collapse. The stress and strain of a new business, coupled with the death of a guest, had frayed the young woman's nerves. Nancy put an arm around Molly's shoulders and gently guided her to a chair.

"I've had several medical courses as part of my police officer training," Nancy said as she eased Molly onto the chair. "I also had plenty of opportunities to practice that training. There. Now take slow, deep breathes and try to relax." Nancy patted Molly's knee. "Everything's going to be fine."

When Molly appeared to be calming, Nancy went to the bathroom, found a clean glass and filled it with water. Her eyes swept the counter looking for a pill bottle. She saw none. Only the usual bathroom toiletries littered the countertop. Nancy had not seen a pill bottle on the bedside tables either. Where were the pills Bridget had taken? The ambulance crew would want them. The doctors would want to know what they were dealing with.

Nancy returned to the bedroom and handed Molly the water. "Take small sips."

Nancy sat on the bed and checked Bridget. The woman's breathing was still shallow, but her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm.

"She's stabilizing," Nancy told Molly. "Her pulse is stronger."

Molly nodded. She was feeling better, too. With Nancy in charge, Molly could finally relax. The morning had started off on such a sour note, Molly thought. Bruce had run into the office blathering about Bridget. At first he hadn't made any sense. _Can't wake her. Not responding. For god's sakes people, do something!_

She and Tim had just stood there staring at Bruce, unable to comprehend the situation. How could they? Bruce hadn't spoken in complete sentences and he'd looked half-crazed; wrinkled clothes, disheveled hair, and bloodshot eyes.

Nancy was talking, forcing Molly back to the present. "The first time I was called to the scene of a car accident, I froze. It's natural. Your senses are overwhelmed. My partner had fifteen years on the force and nothing fazed him. I followed his lead that day. We got the driver out of the car and on the ground. We took turns giving CPR until the ambulance arrived. I was exhausted and shaking when the medics took over. I can't tell you how happy I was to step aside and let them do their jobs. I went home that night, took a hot bath, and cried. It was the most intense experience of my life."

Molly thought she might go home and cry tonight. With a bottle of wine. She deserved it, didn't she? After two horrendous days who would blame her? Running a resort wasn't supposed to be like this. People weren't supposed to die or become seriously ill. People were supposed to have fun and enjoy themselves.

The wail of sirens rent the air. Help had arrived. And none too soon, Molly thought.

# # # #

The ambulance sped away. Tim, Molly, Nancy, Frank, and several _resort_ guests watched it go. Several _resort_ employees watched it, too.

Bruce and Bridget were tucked inside. An IV in Bridget's arm and an oxygen mask on her face.

Frank had exchanged cell phone numbers with Bruce before the ambulance pulled away.

"Call me if you need anything," Frank had said. "I can bring you something to eat or a change of clothes." That might have been a trifle blunt, the bit about the clothes. Bruce looked like he'd crawled out of a hole. A clean set of clothes would not be remiss. Frank quickly added, "Or if you just need someone to talk to. We're here for you."

"Keep us informed," Tim had said. "Let us know how Bridget's doing."

"I will," Bruce had rasped just before the ambulance door shut.

Nancy stood silently and watched the ambulance disappear down the street. Had she just watched a murderer leave with his victim? If he was the murderer, he had not been successful this time. But that might be part of the plan. The first time was supposed to look like an accident. The second time would look like a suicide.

Nancy was vaguely aware of Tim speaking. He was telling the gathered guests that Mrs. Tipton had suffered an allergic reaction to some medicine she'd taken. The medics' had suggested this as a possible theory and Tim ran with it. It was a relatively benign reason for the collapse of a guest and should put people's minds at ease. _No foul play here, folks. Just an unfortunate accident._

The ruse worked and guests dispersed, some to their bungalows, others to the beach. The sun was climbing the sky and daylight was wasting.

Nancy scanned the retreating crowd. Gary and Lana had not put in an appearance. Nancy found that odd. Jeremy Hill had said he'd seen them at breakfast. So, where were they now?

And speaking of Jeremy Hill … There he was, amid a group of palm trees, half hidden in their shadows. He was leaning against the trunk of one of the trees, his arms crossed, and openly watching her. She felt, more than saw, the smug smile.

What was he up to, Nancy wondered.

Frank put a hand on the small of her back. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," she said.

"How 'bout we try breakfast again. Hopefully, we won't be interrupted this time."

"Hopefully. We can also look over those background checks you so thoughtfully printed out."

"I'd almost forgotten about those. There're in my back pocket." Frank patted the pocket and yes, they were still there.

Nancy and Frank headed for the wooden path that led to the dining room.

Frank noticed Nancy had gone silent. "Any thoughts on the morning's events?"

The pill bottle. That's what Nancy was thinking about as they walked along the wooden path.

One of the medics had searched the bedroom and bathroom twice and found nothing. He'd asked Bruce twice about the pills. The third time he'd practically shouted at Bruce, "Where's the medicine your wife took? We need it so we can treat her properly. We need to know what she took."

Bruce had bolted out of the wicker chair and thrust the bottle in the medic's face. "Here! I wanted to throw the damn things away!" He'd looked like a madman waving the bottle in front of the medic's face.

The medic had cautiously taken the bottle from Bruce's trembling hand and then ran to the ambulance. Only at the last minute did Bruce decide to ride along, to be with his wife. Tim and Frank had discussed whether one of them should go to the hospital to be with Bruce. Bruce had overheard their conversation and squashed the idea out-of-hand. He'd said he didn't want anyone ruining their vacation because of him and Bridget. This was their problem and they would deal with it.

They would deal with it. Or did Bruce really mean, _he_ would deal with it? Nancy had to wonder.

She angled her head toward Frank. "Did you find it strange that Bruce didn't give up the pill bottle immediately?"

"Strange as in suspicious?"

"Yes."

"I did. The pills would've been the first things I'd've given the medics. It makes me wonder if Bruce is hiding something."

"Yes," Nancy whispered under her breath. Louder, she said, "I almost wonder if he switched the pills last night. Dumped out the originals and put something else in their place. Something lethal that he'd brought along on this trip for just such a purpose. Something he planned to use to …"

Frank stopped and stared at her. "Something he planned to use to kill his wife?"

Nancy nodded, her expression grave.

"That's a scary thought." Frank ran a hand over his chin. "But under the circumstances and given Mr. Graves' story, I have to question Bruce's actions. They were not, what I consider, the normal actions of a man concerned about the welfare of his wife."

"My thoughts exactly," Nancy said and they started walking again.

Nancy slipped her hand into Frank's and squeezed. The need to feel his skin against hers, to feel his warmth and strength had come upon her in a sudden rush. She gazed up at him.

He saw the need in her eyes. He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything's fine. I just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you."

"Always nice to hear." Frank smiled and held her hand tighter.

He made a silent promise: she would not stray far from his sight. He'd seen Jeremy Hill lurking in the shadows near the Tipton's bungalow. What Jeremy's motives or intentions were, Frank did not know. At the very least, he did not think Jeremy was motivated by goodwill.

In that moment, Frank decided a more thorough investigation of Jeremy Hill was warranted.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Nancy wrinkled her nose and looked at Frank. "These background checks are not as helpful as I'd hoped."

She and Frank were on the porch of their bungalow. They sat at opposite ends of the cushioned, wicker sofa. They'd come back to the bungalow after breakfast. Here they had privacy to discuss suspects and the case.

Nancy had one leg tucked under her and held the report on Gary Simpson. "There's not much information here. Just his birth date. If it's correct, he's older than I thought. A year older than us, thirty-one."

Frank tossed his papers on the cushion and laid an arm along the back of the sofa. "Yeah, there's not much on Bruce either. He's approximately thirty-five, give or take a couple of years. There's an address for him and Bridget. It's in northern Florida. Don't know if that's helpful or not."

Nancy tossed her papers on top of Frank's in the space between them. She pushed off the sofa and stood. Her muscles had cramped from sitting so long. She went to the porch railing and breathed in the salty air. It was so beautiful here and peaceful. Why did murder to have to mar such a lovely place?

Nancy laced her fingers together and extended her arms. She gracefully brought her hands up and over her head. Her back arched like a cat and she rolled her head slowly from side to side. It was a full body stretch, one that she loved.

Frank loved it, too. It showcased Nancy's toned and tanned body in a most spectacular way. He could see the lacy pattern of her bra through her shirt and it set his mind to thinking … of things they could be doing. Pleasantly distracted, he missed what she'd said.

She stared at him, one eyebrow arched in question. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Um, no. I was … uh, distracted."

She watched his gaze travel up and down her body, lingering here and there. She knew quite well where his thoughts had strayed. "Hm, well, I said we're going to have to do things the old fashioned way. The way Miss Marple would do them."

"Who?" His mind was still on her curves, the lacy bra …

"Miss Marple," she said. "A character – a rather famous character – created by Agatha Christie, a mystery writer."

"Oh, yes. I read some of her stories. Mostly the Hercule Poirot ones. Wasn't he Belgium?"

"Yes, I believe so. I preferred Miss Marple myself, but my point is, both detectives used conversation as a way to discover the truth and that's what we're going to have to do here. We have to talk to people, get them to confide in us. With any luck, one of them will let slip a secret, or a clue, something we can use to unmask the murderer. That's all it'll take. I can feel it. Just one small clue, that's all we need."

Frank scoffed softly. "Just one clue, huh?"

Nancy rested her hips against the railing and smiled. "I did say with 'any luck.'" Her smile turned mischievous. "And I wouldn't be above a little sleuthing, too."

Frank chuckled. "Sleuthing, as in sneaking around and peeking in windows?"

Nancy shrugged and turned to view the ocean for a moment. At last, she brought her gaze back to Frank. "Something like that."

Frank rose from the sofa, pulled her to him, and ran a hand through her hair. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"Nothing too dangerous." Her hand slid up his chest, over a shoulder, and around to the nape of his neck. It was a move meant to distract him. She didn't want him questioning her too much.

"I know what you're up to," he said, a keen awareness in his dark eyes. "But I'll indulge you for now." Then he kissed her.

Nancy heard a slight movement to her right and a nervous, "Ahem."

Nancy and Frank broke apart. Molly Kincaid stood red cheeked, a few steps from their porch.

"Sorry to interrupt," Molly said. "I .. I wanted to talk to Nancy … Oh, I can come back another time."

"No," Frank said. "Now's fine. I was just leaving. I have something to look into." He gave Nancy a wink. He could keep secrets, too.

"Oh, if you're sure," Molly said breathlessly. She appeared flustered and embarrassed.

"Positive," Frank assured her. He gave Nancy a quick peck on the cheek and then he was off, loping across the sand.

Nancy watched the strong line of his back retreat and wondered what he was up to.

"I'm really sorry to barge in like this," Molly said.

Nancy turned and gave her full attention to Molly. Nancy realized this was her chance. She'd wanted to talk to people. Well, here was someone who wanted to talk. The conversations started now, with Molly Kincaid.

An hour later when Molly left, Nancy wasn't sure if she'd learned anything useful or anything that would further her investigation. Molly had needed assurance regarding her marriage and the ups and downs that came with it.

Ups and downs came with any relationship, Nancy had told her. And yes, everything Molly felt was perfectly normal. Although, Tim's obsession with the finances might be a tad unusual or excessive, Nancy thought as she sat alone on the wicker sofa. She hadn't said that to Molly though.

Common sense told Nancy that running a resort was different than running a detective agency. Tim probably had every right to worry about finances. He and Molly had employees to consider and guests and menus and food and … well, the list went on and on. It was much more involved than operating a small detective agency. All Nancy and Frank, and his brother Joe, had to worry about was getting the next case. Having cases and receiving payments paid the bills. Simple as that.

Nancy felt restless. A common occurrence for her. She had things to investigate, starting with that pill bottle. Did Bruce have another bottle hidden in his bungalow? Nancy blew out a breath. There was only one way to find out. A quick search of the Tipton's bungalow should do the trick. Bruce was still at the hospital with Bridget. He hadn't called Molly or Tim with any news. Nancy had made sure to ask Molly that question before Molly left.

Bruce would, in all likelihood, be at the hospital most of the day. Now was the time to investigate. Now, was Nancy's chance. She pushed off the sofa and scanned the beach. Families with children splashed in the surf. Couples and singles lounged on towels, or reclined in chairs, soaking up the sun. Nancy felt a momentary pang of guilt. She and Frank should be out there, with the other guests, enjoying the sun and waves. There was still time for that, she told herself. They had five days left. If she could solve this case today then, they could sit back and relax for the remainder of their time.

She went into her bungalow and slipped on tennis shoes. Much better for trudging through sand and tiptoeing through a bungalow. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a band. All set for a little sleuthing, she thought as she looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

As she locked the door of her bungalow she wondered where Frank was. Wherever he was and whatever he was doing; she'd bet money it had something to do with this investigation.

She had left him a note on the table in the bungalow.

 _Gone sleuthing. Be back soon._

 _Love, Nancy_

She didn't want to say more than that. Didn't want to upset him. If he'd been here, he would have tried to talk her out of sleuthing. Best if he didn't know exactly what she was up to.

With that final thought, she stepped off the porch and turned in the direction of the Tipton's bungalow.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: I apologize up front for any and all typos. I try to find them, but as everyone knows, it's hard to proof your own work. I 've proofed some of my previous chapters, found typos, and reposted the chapters. Nothing in the story has changed. Just wanted you to know I try to put out as clean a copy as possible (eventually). Also, I had the flu this week (my cat also got it!), so I'm still in the recovery stage. That might have affected my work._

 _Anyway, here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy and thank you, dear readers, who've left a review. You make my day. I always appreciate hearing readers' thoughts and opinions. Take care everyone and stay healthy._

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Nancy glanced left and right. No one was around. The Tipton's bungalow was quiet and forlorn. It had been abruptly abandoned. The inhabitants had run off without saying good-bye. One of them taken ill and the other gone to support the ill one. Or so it seemed.

Of course, in Nancy's mind, Bruce's motives were murky at best. Had he tried to kill his wife? Nancy did not know the answer to that question. The question now was; did Bruce have secrets hidden in the bungalow?

Nancy climbed the two steps to the porch and cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Still no one around. No one to see her enter.

She put a hand on the door knob and twisted. It turned and Nancy smiled. Luck was with her. In the morning's chaos, the rush to get Bridget into the ambulance and the commotion over the pill bottle, Bruce had forgotten to lock the door.

Nancy slipped inside and shut the door behind her. She pressed her back to it and breathed softly. She listened for sounds as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. All the curtains were drawn. The living room and kitchenette area were cloaked in a gloomy darkness. The door to the bedroom was ajar and a narrow beam of sunlight spilled into the hallway. It created a puddle of pale, yellow light on the floor.

Nancy shifted her gaze to the bathroom door. It was closed. The bathroom had cabinets and drawers and a trash can. All good places to hide a pill bottle or just pills. Or just the bag they'd been in. Lots of possibilities. Her investigation would begin there.

Thirty minutes later, Nancy let out a defeated sigh. Her efforts had been for naught. She'd found nothing in the bathroom or bedroom to implicate Bruce in a crime. She had not been so low as to snoop in their luggage. There were certain lines Nancy would not cross. She'd stuck to the obvious places, dressers and closets.

 _Well, it had been a long shot_. _Nothing ventured, nothing gained_.

Time to get back to her bungalow. Frank might be there by now and would be wondering where she was. She'd rather not explain where she'd been and what she'd been doing. She did not think he would be pleased with her actions and rightfully so.

She pulled the bedroom door shut and crept to the living room. As she moved through the room she became aware of a shape in the darkness. Something, or someone, was crouched by the sofa. Some slight movement had given it away. The shape was human, she realized, and a bolt of fear knifed through her. She had not been alone in the bungalow.

Light and sound struck simultaneously. Stars exploded behind Nancy's eyes and a dull roar filled her ears. She met the wooden floor with a hard thud. She gathered her wits, shook her head, and forced herself up. She stumbled blindly in the darkness and groped wildly, searching for the door.

Her fingers touched the wall at the same moment a pair of large, rough hands grabbed her shoulders. She was spun around and slammed into the wall. A powerful, muscled body pinned her in place. She was chest to chest with her attacker.

Her head swam. The room dipped and weaved. She was still dazed from the blow to the back of the head. She fought to concentrate, to focus on the man holding her immobile.

He pinned her to the wall with the full length of his body and applied tremendous pressure. It was hard for her to breathe. Her ribcage could not fully expand and, therefore, she inhaled short, shallow breaths.

She had little means to fight back. Her left arm was trapped between them and was currently being crushed to her chest. She'd brought the arm in a defensive move, but he'd been on her in a flash.

He had her right wrist locked in an iron grip above her head and his muscular thighs pressed her legs flush against the wall. She was quite defenseless.

Her vision began to clear and she tried to make out his face. The room was shrouded in darkness. A lone shaft of light found its way into the room through a slit in the curtains. The upper half of the man's face was in shadow, his eyes and nose were hidden from view. But she could see his mouth and chin and she knew who he was.

 _Jeremy Hill_.

There was heat in his voice when he spoke, "So, Miss Drew, you decided to investigate after all."

Anger narrowed her eyes. "Let go of me." Her words were clipped and measured.

"Aww, not so fast." He brought up his right hand, his only free hand, and stroked her exposed neck with his thumb. In other circumstances, it might have been considered a tender gesture.

Her eyes had adjusted to the feeble light and she could see his face clearly now. Something dark and dangerous stirred in his features and she felt the first prickle of fear.

"Let me go," she repeated. He had not relieved the pressure on her chest and she was becoming lightheaded. "I can't breathe."

"Sorry," he said, but did not sound it. "Didn't know if you were friend or foe."

He eased off the pressure a little and she took a deep, welcoming breath.

 _Didn't know if she was friend or foe. She could say the same about him. Especially, since he had not released her_.

"Why are you here?" She did not expect an honest answer.

"Seems we have the same questions, beautiful."

His thumb stroked and probed her neck. He found a spot on the side of her neck and pressed lightly. Nancy felt herself grow faint.

A cold and calculating smile hardened his mouth. "The carotid sinus. Too much pressure and you pass out."

Nancy was relieved when his thumb moved to the front of her neck. However, it soon probed for another delicate spot and found it. He applied pressure and Nancy gasped for air.

His hot breath slid over her neck as his nose brushed her cheek. His lips were next to her ear. "The hyoid bone. Often broken during strangulation."

Nancy's heart hammered in her chest and her vision dimmed. She cursed herself for being in such a vulnerable position.

He relieved the pressure and Nancy blinked back tears. She coughed and gasped.

"Are you planning on strangling me?" she asked after she regained some composure. She hated that her voice trembled ever-so-slightly. The pulse in her neck throbbed as she made eye contact with him.

His sky blue eyes pinned her to the wall with a cold glare. "I like to have options."

It was the vaguest of answers and did nothing to relieve Nancy's fraught nerves. She balled her hands into helpless fists and struggled to free herself from his grasp. She pushed and squirmed. Heaved and twisted. If only she could free an arm or a leg. Then she could scratch, or claw, or kick him. The ability to knee him in the groin would have brought great pleasure. He was incredibly strong and kept her flush against the wall. Her efforts earned her sweat and frustration and a smug chuckle from him.

The bungalow had become hot and stuffy. Sweat beaded on Nancy's forehead and she was breathing heavily. She noticed drops of sweat along Jeremy's hairline. At least, she was making him work at keeping her put. It was a small satisfaction.

"What do you want from me?" she forced her voice to remain calm and level. Perhaps, she could reason with him. If there was something he wanted, within reason, maybe she could accommodate him. Or at least, appear to do so.

Words were all she had left and she must use them wisely. She had to talk him out of harming her, if that was his intention. She had some hope that he was merely toying with her. Just trying to fright her. Well, he had succeeded.

His breath came in hot puffs that seared her face and neck. She felt his heart beating in his chest and knew he could feel hers, too.

He had not answered her and she guessed he was considering his answer carefully.

Finally, he said, "Why are you here?"

She thought for a second before answering, "Snooping around."

Under the circumstances, honesty seemed the best policy. She suspected he had been snooping, too, and might confess as much. They were both guilty of breaking and entering. Perhaps, he would see them as equals and release her.

"What were you looking for?"

"A pill bottle." She wanted to add, _and what about you? Why are you here?_

His hand was still at her neck. His thumb gently caressing the hollow of her neck, or the suprasternal notch as Frank would have called it. Usually considered an erogenous zone, the hollow was a highly vulnerable part of the body. People trained in martial arts were taught to attack the area.

"Pill bottle?" Jeremy seemed genuinely puzzled.

Nancy thought that over. He'd stood on the sidelines this morning and watched the events that transpired at the Tipton's bungalow. Jeremy apparently did not know about Bruce's reluctance to give up the pills.

Nancy explained, "Bridget took some pills last night. Something her husband gave her. She had a bad reaction to them. I wanted to know what kind of pills they were."

Jeremy frowned. His eyes shifted left and right as he thought over Nancy's statements. At last, his eyes settled on her. He scrutinized her, studied her face and expression in extreme detail and then said, "You think Mr. Tipton tried to harm his wife?"

"I think it's a possibility."

Nancy thought she saw the smallest of smiles tug at the corners of Jeremy's mouth. She could not fathom the reason for it nor did she have time. The door to the bungalow opened a crack.

Jeremy and Nancy turned their heads in unison toward the door. A dark figure entered cautiously and closed the door. Nancy surmised it was not Bruce. He would have entered blithely, blissfully unaware of people in his bungalow. This person had no such preconceived idea.

The dark figure hissed, "Nancy?"

Nancy wanted to respond, but Jeremy's hand tightened around her neck.

"Your knight has arrived," Jeremy whispered scathingly into Nancy's ear.

Frank moved into the room and flung open a set of curtains. Light flooded the room. Everyone was suddenly displayed in sharp relief. Frank saw that Jeremy had Nancy pinned to the wall, one large hand circled her neck.

The muscles in Frank's neck bulged and his shoulders came up. Adrenaline and rage washed over him. He was instantly ready for battle. His mind ran through plans and options.

"Let her go." Frank's voice held a warning, _Don't mess with me. I_ will _put you down._

Jeremy's eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a half-smile. His thumb sought the hollow of Nancy's neck and found it. Her eyes pleaded with him, _No, please._

Jeremy turned his head slightly and spoke over his shoulder, "Back off Hardy or she pays."

"Harm her and you're a dead man." Frank came in slow and easy. Getting ready. His hands coiled into tight, hard fists and his muscles tensed.

"I said, back off, Hardy."

"Never going to happen." Frank's eyes never left Jeremy's hand, the one around Nancy's neck.

"If you know what's good for your lady, you'll stand down."

"If you know what's good for you, you'll let her go."

Stalemate. Neither man was going to back down.

In the blink of an eye, Jeremy made his decision. He pushed his thumb into the hollow of Nancy's neck and immediately, she convulsed and squirmed and gagged.

A knot of anger formed in Frank's stomach. In less than a second, he calculated the speed and distance for a roundhouse kick and stepped forward. His arms came up as he pushed off his rear foot. The rotation of his upper body generated enormous force and power. Frank's right shin slammed into Jeremy's hip at a stunning 130 mile per hour.

The impact staggered Jeremy and he lost his grip on Nancy. She wrenched herself free, fell on her hands and knees, and scrambled to safety in the kitchenette area.

Frank heard her gasps and coughs. "You okay, Nan?" His eyes never left Jeremy who'd fallen to his knees, but was now on his feet and ready for payback.

"Just peachy," Nancy said between coughs. Some of her feistiness had resurfaced. Frank found that reassuring.

With Nancy out of danger, Frank turned his attention to Jeremy. Completely and totally. Frank snapped a vicious straight right into Jeremy's face. The blow caught Jeremy square on the cheek and he rocked back on his heels. He shook his head and snapped a straight right of his own. Frank was expecting it and leaned left. Jeremy's fist zipped past Frank's ear. It would have been a great punch if Jeremy had landed it. Instead, he got tangled up in the follow through. His body over-twisted and he had to step back and start again. All of that gave Frank time for a counter punch.

Frank's left hook was halfway to its target, coming in hard and fast, before Jeremy even started his wind-up. Frank's fist plowed into the side of Jeremy's neck and knocked him off his feet. Jeremy went down and thumped on the floor. He lay there, sprawled and gasping.

Frank's eyes sharpened to obsidian slits. "I suggest you stay down, Mr. Hill. Nancy and I are leaving now."

Frank helped Nancy up and they departed the bungalow. Jeremy was sitting up, rubbing his neck when they closed the door. Blood trickled from the cut on his cheek and his side ached. Hardy had been an able opponent. More than able. Jeremy would think twice before confronting him again.

Nancy limped beside Frank. He held her by the elbow. She'd scraped her knee when she fell and a thin stream of blood flowed down her shin. The tension in Frank's body told her he was still angry. Most likely a little upset with her.

"I'm sorry," she said, head downcast. "I didn't expect anyone to be in the bungalow. Especially, not Jeremy Hill."

"Was he in the bungalow when you arrived?"

"I don't know. He attacked me when I was leaving."

"Odd." A perplexed frown wrinkled Frank's brow. "He could've just let you leave. You'd never have known he was there."

"That's exactly what I was thinking." Nancy limped up the steps to their bungalow's porch and plopped on the wicker sofa.

"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom. I'll get it." Frank unlocked the bungalow and disappeared inside.

Nancy sat with her throbbing knee and bruised neck and contemplated the events at the Tipton's bungalow. Why had Jeremy attacked her? It made no sense. Why give himself away like that?

The only conclusion Nancy could draw was he must have thought she'd seen him crouched beside the sofa. And for some reason, he did not want his presence in the bungalow known. What could that reason be?

Frank reappeared with the first aid kit and a damp washcloth. He gingerly cleaned Nancy's knee and applied a band-aid.

Nancy noticed Frank's hand, the one he'd used to punch Jeremy in the cheek. "Frank, your hand's swollen."

Frank closed the first aid kit and stood. "I'll get some ice while you're with Detective Gosling."

Nancy's eyes flew open. "Detective Gosling? Why? What's going on?"

"He and Detective Ellis are here re-interviewing people. Molly called while you were sneaking around and said Gosling wanted to see you. He has something he wants you to look at."

Nancy held her breath. "What?"

Frank smiled. He was enjoying this, dragging out the suspense. "He found the picture. The one in the newspaper. He wants you to look at it and see if you can identify the man in the photo."

Nancy's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

Frank shook his head. "Not at all." He offered his hand and helped Nancy off the sofa. "We'd better get going. We've kept him waiting long enough."

As they headed down the wooden path to Tim's office, Nancy said, "Do you think I should tell Gosling about Jeremy's attack?"

"Only if you're willing to admit to breaking and entering." One dark eyebrow rose while the other lowered and Frank gave Nancy a look.

Nancy sighed. "No. I think I'll keep the whole sordid escapade to myself."

"I think that's a good idea. I don't think Jeremy's going to say anything either for the same reason."

Nancy nodded and her thoughts turned to the photo. Gosling had located it. Would she recognize the man in the photo?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Nancy squeezed Frank's arm as they neared the _Palms Resort_. Frank stopped walking and looked at Nancy, one dark brow arched in question.

"I .. I just wanted to say, thank you, Frank. You may have saved my life today."

Frank brushed a strand of hair from Nancy's face. It had come loose from her ponytail. "I have a feeling this won't be the last time I save that pretty little derriere of yours." He cast an appreciative glance at said derriere. "Not that I'm complaining."

Nancy lowered her head and became contemplative. "I have a tendency to leap before I look. I really need to do something about that. Be a little more cautious." She lifted her head and looked into Frank's smiling face.

Frank chuckled softly. "That's not a bad idea. Being cautious, but …" He took her face in his hands and gazed deeply into her midnight blue eyes. She could see he was very serious now. "Don't change too much, Nan. I love you just the way you are and for _who_ you are. The most generous, caring person I know. You put the welfare of others before yourself."

She smiled demurely and her cheeks glowed a soft pink. "I really don't deserve you, Frank Hardy. You know that, don't you?"

His loving smile and husky voice melted her already mushy heart. "I could say the same, Nan. I don't deserve you, but I don't want to argue. Look, we're here."

He opened the door to the _Resort_ and Nancy entered.

"I have something to take care of," Frank said as he stood in the doorway. "I'll leave you to meet with Detective Gosling in private. I should be back in 15 minutes or so. Wait here for me?"

"I'll be right outside the door." Nancy nodded at the door.

"Sounds good." Frank winked, then turned, and left.

Nancy walked the few steps to Tim Kincaid's office and knocked on the door.

Detective Gosling opened the door and poked his head out. "Ah, Miss Drew. I was about to send out a search party."

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, detective. I .. I fell." Nancy indicated her scraped knee. "I had to clean the wound and find a band-aid."

"Are you okay?" Gosling cocked his head and frowned.

Nancy thought his eyes lingered on her neck too long. Were there any marks there from Jeremy's attack? She hadn't looked in a mirror before coming to meet Gosling and now wished she had.

She almost brought her hand up to hide her neck, but quickly squelched the notion. Such a move would surely draw Gosling's attention to her neck.

"I'm fine." She smiled brightly. Always best to put on a cheerful face. "Frank said you found the photo in the newspaper."

Gosling saw the curiosity and excitement in Nancy's eyes and smiled, too. "I did. Please, come in. Have a seat." He waved her into one of the chairs in front of Tim's desk.

Nancy sat, but it was hard for her to sit still. She was anxious to see the photo. To hold it and examine it in minute detail. She might need to buy a magnifying glass. Surely, they sold those in town.

Gosling opened a folder on the desk and withdrew the photo. He slid it across the desk and Nancy picked it up. It was a copy of the original newspaper clipping. The story of the husband who had saved his wife from drowning was printed beneath the photo.

It was a black and white photo. Kind of grainy. Not much detail. The husband's head was turned to the side and rested on top of his wife's head as if he were comforting her. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders.

Had he done that intentionally, Nancy wondered, avoided looking at the camera? It was a good shot of his profile though.

Nancy could not tell what color the man's hair was. She scanned the clipping for the date and then brought her eyes up to meet Gosling's.

"This was taken seven years ago," she said.

Gosling rested a hip against the edge of the desk and crossed his legs at the ankles. "Yes, it was."

"It says the man's name was John Highsmith. I'm sure you searched all the databases for Mr. Highsmith."

"We did. The name's an alias. One of many he's used. We're still trying to track down Mr. Highsmith's real name. We've been able to identify the woman in the photo, his wife. She was originally Maria Lopez, an immigrant. She came to the U.S. a year before she met Mr. Highsmith. When she married him, she had no family in this country and only a few relatives in Mexico. Her mother and father were deceased and she had no brothers or sisters. She was the perfect victim. There was no one to question her death."

Nancy shook her head woefully. "That's all very sad and what did Mr. Highsmith gain by her death? Insurance money?"

"Fifty thousand dollars to be exact."

"That's not a lot of money. Hardly seems worth killing for."

"Maybe not, but Mr. Highsmith was very clever. He bought the insurance policy shortly after he and Miss Lopez married. As you probably know, a claimant cannot collect insurance money if the insured commits suicide within the first two years of a policy."

Nancy nodded. She had investigated a few suspicious death claims in her day, both as a police detective and as a private investigator. Insurance companies did not like to pay out if there was even the slightest question concerning the death of an insured.

"Well, our Mr. Highsmith waited two and a half years before he killed his wife," Gosling said. "I found the hospital where he took her after she overdosed on pain meds."

"Pain meds?" Nancy's brow creased.

"Yes, Miss Lopez fell and hurt her ankle rather badly. She was painting the outside of their house and fell off the ladder. The doctor prescribed powerful meds for the pain."

Nancy found this new information very interesting. Had the husband attempted to kill his wife then, on the ladder? Or was this merely a fortunate happenstance? It led to her having a potent medicine in the house, something he could use against her.

"How long had they been married at that point?" Nancy asked. "When she fell."

"Just over two years." Gosling rubbed his nose and sniffed. "I suspect, Miss Lopez was Mr. Highsmith's first victim and he sort of bumbled his way through. He was learning as he went. A rather nasty thought really. I think Mr. Highsmith may have tried to kill his wife that day on the ladder. I'm sure the insurance company would have viewed a fall as an accident and would have paid without batting an eye. However, Mr. Highsmith botched the attempt and had to start over. His next attempt was an overdose of the pain meds. He struck out again and resorted to more brutal methods."

"He hung her." A shiver crawled down Nancy's spine and her gaze locked on Gosling's. His eyes were small and dark and a fierce intelligence shone within.

"Yes," Gosling said, "and he hung her. And since he'd had his insurance policy more than the required two years he was able to collect the money."

"It's all very sad," Nancy said and thought, although not a large sum, the insurance money would have been enough for Mr. Highsmith to start over in a new town. Mr. Highsmith, or whatever his real name was, had been very clever. He'd avoided suspicion until Mr. Graves showed up.

Nancy turned her attention to the photo. Her brows knitted together in deep concentration. "It's not the best picture," she sighed.

"No, it isn't and I'm sure Highsmith has changed his appearance since then. Actually, I'd be surprised if he _hadn't_ changed his appearance. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she admitted and her shoulders slumped.

"So, nothing jumps out at you? No spark of recognition?" She heard the hope, or perhaps desperation, in Gosling's voice.

"No. I think I need to go over the photo in detail. Somewhere quiet where I can give it my full attention."

Gosling pushed off the desk. "Well, it's yours to keep. Have Frank look at it, too."

"Of course." Then she realized what he'd said. "Frank, too? Does that mean he's off the suspect list?"

Gosling smiled. "Yes, no red flags turned up in his background check. Being former military and serving in the Army's CID put him in the OK column. Better than OK as a matter-of-fact."

And what about me, she wanted to say as she felt her back stiffening. _I'm a former police detective with the Chicago PD. That should count for something._

Well, he had given her the photo and he had some expectation she might be able to identify the man in it. Perhaps, he had come to view her as an equal or, at least, as someone who could help in the investigation.

She smiled politely and rose. "Thank you for the photo, detective. I'll study it and let you know if anything jumps out at me."

"We'd appreciate that." Gosling dug in his jacket pocket. "Here's my card. If something does come to you, call anytime day or night."

Nancy took the card and glanced at it. "I will, detective. Thank you again for the photo. I'll give it my undivided attention."

# # # #

Nancy stepped out of the building and into the bright sunshine. She'd forgotten her sunglasses and shielded her eyes with the copy of the newspaper clipping Gosling had given her. She looked around. Frank had not returned yet. That was fine, she wanted a few quiet minutes to mull over the information Detective Gosling had shared with her.

She paced the walkway as she mulled. This new information put things in a whole new light. Since the killer used the 'appearance of suicide' as a means to dispose of his wives, he had to wait two or three years into a marriage before attempting murder. If the killer were going to strike here and now, that meant Nancy was not looking for a newlywed couple, but a couple that had been married a while. Such as Bruce and Bridget Tipton. And given Bruce's actions this morning with the pill bottle …

Well, it pushed Bruce to the top of Nancy's suspect list.

"Hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Frank's voice startled Nancy from her thoughts.

"Oh, not at all." She spied the large picnic basket in his hands. "And what do you have there?"

"A surprise." He smiled and she thought how very handsome he was. His eyes were dark and warm. His hair was the color of dusty coal and short and shiny. She wanted to run her fingers through it.

"I love surprises. What is it?" She moved closer and felt a tingle of warmth and anticipation.

"Paddle-boating and a picnic on a secluded beach. We're taking the afternoon off from sleuthing. This afternoon, it's just you and me and wherever the ocean takes us."

Nancy rose on her toes and kissed Frank's cheek. "It sounds like a delightful way to spend the afternoon. Just let me run back to the bungalow and change into my swimsuit."

"No need to. Your swimsuit's in here." Frank nodded at the basket in his hands.

Nancy lifted the lid of the basket and peered inside. Her sunglasses were there along with sandwiches, bottled water, fruit, potato salad, and sunscreen. Two beach towels were draped over Frank's broad shoulders. It seemed he'd thought of everything.

Nancy scooped up her sunglasses and put them on. "Ahh, much better. But how am I supposed to change into my swimsuit, oh wise one?"

Frank grinned. "We'll paddle far enough out that no one can see you change on the boat."

Nancy could tell by Frank's rakish grin that he thought this was a wonderful idea.

"No one can see, huh? Except for you." She elbowed him playfully in the arm.

"I see nothing wrong with the suggestion," Frank deadpanned. Not like he hadn't seen her naked. And not like he minded seeing her naked. That was half the plan, getting her naked. No, he didn't mind seeing that gorgeous body naked. Not at all.

"What are you smiling about?" Nancy frowned at him.

"Nothing." He took her by the arm and they headed to the paddle-boat rental shack.

Nancy slipped the photo into the basket as they walked.

"Was that the photo?" Frank asked. "The one from the newspaper?"

"Yes." Nancy snuggled close to Frank. "But it'll keep until this evening. Now, all I want to do is enjoy the day with you."

* * *

 _A/N: So, I'm pretty much healthy again and so is my cat. Yay. She had me worried there for a while. She was NOT doing well at all._

 _Thanks for the reviews and especially to the guest reviewers. I like how one of you (or maybe it's both) really goes into depth about the characters and who you suspect of being the killer and why. Very interesting for me to read. Of course, I'm trying to keep everyone guessing as to the killer's identity. Don't want to give anything away yet. ;)_

 _Nice to hear that the chapters are captivating and engaging. Always my hope and intent. I try to move the story along, but add in character development as I go. I like how Shani said I always bring the heat between N/F. I do try and do that, but in a romantic way._


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Nancy eyed Frank's hand as they walked down the path to the paddle-boat rental shack. His hand was swollen, but not badly.

Frank sensed her concern. "There's ice in the basket for the food. I can use it for my hand if I need to." That was all she needed to hear.

Nancy and Frank neared the rental shack. They saw Gary and Lana off to the side putting on life vests.

Gary nodded 'hello' to Nancy and Frank. "You renting a paddle boat for the day?"

"Yeah." Frank held up the picnic basket. "Got a picnic lunch from Molly, too."

"We did the same," Gary said. "Basket's already on the boat. Lana and I wanted some time alone, just the two of us."

Lana smiled at Frank and Nancy, but didn't say anything. Gary turned and checked his wife's life vest. He made sure the straps were secure then to Frank and Nancy, he said, "It's our honeymoon. We should enjoy it. Our time here is half over."

"Couldn't agree more," Frank said. "You two have fun."

Gary and Lana climbed into their paddle boat and a rental shack helper pushed the boat away from the dock. The young couple waved to Nancy and Frank as they paddled away.

Frank rented a paddle boat and placed the picnic basket and towels onboard. Nancy watched as Frank stepped onto the boat. There was a graceful quality in the way he moved. Sure-footed and confident. Everything was done with care. Every move thought out in advance. Every move well-planned like the way he had taken down Jeremy Hill. Frank hadn't gone in throwing random punches. He'd gone in with a plan and he'd executed it. He'd told Jeremy he wouldn't back down and he wouldn't. It wasn't in his nature. Each punch Frank threw had had a target and Nancy was sure each punch had landed on its intended target.

Frank and Nancy settled into the paddle boat's seats and a helper pushed them out to sea. Their adventure had begun. A day of relaxation and fun. The paddle boat's awning gave some relief from the blazing sun.

They paddled along, enjoying the sun and the breeze. They let the waves and their mood dictate the course. Nancy caught occasional glimpses of Gary and Lana and tried to read their body language. The couple seemed to be enjoying their time alone. Even from a distance, Nancy saw that Gary was still attentive toward Lana. At the moment, Gary was in the water and trying to coax Lana in. Lana seemed reluctant to join her husband in the ocean. Nancy wondered if yesterday's episode on the surfboards had anything to do with Lana's reluctance.

The day was sunny and warm, the sky impossibly blue. A few fluffy clouds scudded in the distance. A perfect day for paddle boating on a turquoise ocean. The perfect way for Nancy to let her mind rest, something it desperately needed. She needed some time away from the investigation. She needed a mental break and paddle boating gave her that. This evening, she would go back to a case with fresh eyes and a new perspective.

That's what she needed, a new perspective. She had suspects but no clear winner. Currently, Bruce sat atop the list, but Nancy didn't want to completely dismiss the other suspects.

Jeremy Hill could just as well be the killer. He'd shown her today that he wasn't above frightening and harming a woman. Her neck was still sore from where he'd pushed and probed.

Then there was Tim Kincaid and his obsession with finances. Was that good or bad? Did it make him good or bad? Perhaps a little of both. Honestly, she didn't have enough information to form an opinion.

And what about Gary? Ever since the surfboard incident he'd been extremely solicitous to his wife. A natural response, of course. Nancy did wonder though how Lana felt about it. Gary hadn't let Lana out of his sight since that incident. Some women craved that kind of all-consuming attention. Was Lana one of them?

Frank touched Nancy's arm and brought her back to the present. She looked into his warm, mocha brown eyes. His calm exterior hid his emotions. Always under lock and key, she thought with a small smile. Although, in the eighteen months she'd known him there had been times when she'd seen his emotions unleased. When someone he loved was threatened, his anger erupted, but he never lost complete control. It was kind of eerie the way he always maintained control no matter what the situation.

He was always thinking, always planning his next step. He was smart like that and Nancy greatly admired him for it. She, on the other hand, tended to run full tilt into danger, usually to her own regret. She needed to take a page from Frank's playbook and tame her impulsive nature.

Frank's fingers folded around hers. His touch, and his presence, filled her with peace. He brought so much to her life. She suddenly realized she never wanted to be without him. She was falling for him and hard and she didn't care. It made her happy.

It was hot and getting hotter. She pulled her swimsuit out of the basket and changed into it beneath her clothes and the beach towels. Frank watched with avid curiosity. How was she going to pull this feat off? He cocked his head this way and that. When she finally threw off the towel and sat in her swimsuit, Frank shook his head in defeat. Not an extra inch of skin had been exposed in the whole exchange. How she had managed that, he didn't know, but good for her.

"You're amazing, Miss Drew. You accomplished the impossible." His wry smile made her laugh.

She dipped her head to the side and gazed at him from beneath dark lashes. "Never underestimate a woman."

His cheek twitched and an eyebrow rose. "Certainly not you, that's for sure."

She laughed and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was fun to surprise him.

# # # #

The day passed in a hazy blur of bliss. They paddled a good distance from the shore and swam. Colorful fishes darted beneath their feet. Then they boarded the boat and paddled until they found a quiet beach with pale sand and towering palm trees. Here, they enjoyed lunch and conversation. They talked of family and childhoods, of old loves and new friends. At last, they smoothed sunscreen on each other and lay in the sun. Their skin turned brown as they dozed. They woke and explored the beach, took a leisurely stroll along the shore. Nancy found sea shells and picked the more unique ones as souvenirs. These went into the picnic basket along with the towels and the trash from their lunch.

The sun began its descent toward the horizon and they realized it was time to go back. The paddle boat had to be returned by six pm. They packed their belongings and paddled back to the dock. When Nancy lifted the picnic basket from the boat, she felt a happiness she hadn't known in a while. Within the basket lay treasures that would remind her of this day … a day she would never forget. Their talks had led to a deeper understanding of each other and she now felt closer to Frank than before. She was sure he felt the same.

Hand in hand, she and Frank trudged to their bungalow. A pleasant weariness clung to them. Their thoughts turned to dinner and the band. A night of good food and dancing was something they both looked forward to. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you dear reviewers for your comments. To IluvMom, so glad to hear that you like my writing style! :) I try to keep it direct and move the story along without too much unnecessary clutter or filler._

 _This chapter gives us a little reprieve from the mystery and some character development. Next chapter, we're back to the murder and suspects. Of course, there was some discussion of suspects in this chapter. What's a clue and what's not is for you to decide ..._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Bruce Tipton was in a cab making his way back to the _Palms Resort_. It was late, almost seven at night. He was tired and hungry. Hadn't had more than a sandwich and a cup of coffee from the hospital's cafeteria and that had been at noon, or thereabouts.

Mentally and physically, Bruce was a mess.

 _Run and hide, run and hide, run and hide …_

The words echoed in his mind relentlessly. He could think of nothing else.

He'd made a mistake. That blasted pill bottle. Oh, why hadn't he given it up right away? Why hadn't he handed it over the first time the medic had asked? Where was the harm in that?

There was _no_ harm. He'd known that, yet had held on to the damn thing like some crazed maniac. He could tell by the way the medic had looked at him that the medic thought he was a few cards short of a deck. The others – gathered round on the porch – had stared at him, too. He'd seen their furrowed brows and the questions in their eyes. _What was Bruce hiding? Surely, he was hiding something. What other reason was there for not giving up the pill bottle immediately?_

Indeed, what other reason was there? Even Bruce asked himself the question.

 _Graves_.

Old Mr. Graves was the reason. Graves loved to talk. He'd told the same stories over and over to anyone who would listen. Bruce had heard most of the stories in the few days Mr. Graves had been alive. Bruce had heard the one about the murderer. How many people had Graves told that story to?

That indeed was the question. Bruce figured Nancy and Frank had heard the story. Graves would be remiss if he hadn't told fellow investigators about his big case.

The taxi pulled up in front of the resort and the driver tipped his head back and called out the fare. Bruce dug in his pocket, found some cash, and handed it to the driver.

"Keep the change," Bruce mumbled as he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The sun was sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant pinks, oranges, and purples.

The driver counted the money and grinned. "Thanks," he yelled out his open window.

Bruce was already on his way to his bungalow. A quick shower and then to dinner.

 _Run and hide, run and hide, run and hide …_

Well, he wasn't going to do that tonight. He was too tired and too hungry. And the more he thought about it, the more he disliked the idea. Why should he run and hide?

Then another idea came to him. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he thought it over. Yes, there was another way to solve his problem. He saw that now. He should have realized it sooner, but he'd been caught up in his wife's drama and the pill bottle.

He shook his head and almost laughed. He'd been a fool. But no more. Things would be sorted out tonight.

# # # #

Frank locked the door to the bungalow and pocketed the key. He turned to Nancy and took her hand. "Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving." She laughed.

They walked in silence for a short distance and then Nancy sighed, "I'd had such high hopes for the magnifying glass."

Earlier, they'd gone into town and purchased pain meds for Frank's swollen right hand and a magnifying glass for the newspaper photo.

"Give it time." Frank's tone was soothing and rational. "You haven't really had a chance to study the picture. I kind of rushed you." He shrugged sheepishly. "I'm hungry, too. But, I promise, you'll have all the time you want after dinner to examine the photo."

Nancy cozied up to him. "What about the band and dancing?"

Frank gave her a look. "I thought you'd want to get straight back to the bungalow and the photo."

"Not necessarily. A dance or two won't hurt anything. After all, it's not every night I get a chance to dance with the man of my dreams."

He saw that her smile was real. She wasn't teasing him. He felt an inner warmth and said, "Well, when you put it that way, I can't refuse. Not that I'd ever want to."

# # # #

Gary and Lana were already seated when Nancy and Frank entered the dining room. The head waiter bowed his head at Nancy and Frank and guided them to the table, the one they'd shared with Lana and Gary and Bruce and Bridget since arriving at the _Palms Resort_. Of course, no one expected to see Bridget tonight and Bruce was a maybe at best.

Frank pulled out Nancy's chair and nodded a hello to Gary and Lana. "Looks like we're not the only ones having a late dinner tonight," Frank said.

"After paddle boating we took a long nap." A wry smile twisted Gary's lips as he glanced at his wife. "Guess we were tired."

Lana clutched Gary's arm. "We did take a long walk on the beach before dinner," she said. "The sunset was amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"It was second in beauty only to you," Gary said then added, "We saw Bruce getting out of a cab. Maybe he'll join us for dinner."

Nancy laid her napkin on her lap. "I hope so. I'd like to know how Bridget's doing."

"As would I," Lana said. "We heard that Bridget was taken to the hospital this morning. What happened?" She looked to Nancy for an answer.

Nancy stuck to the facts. "According to Bruce, Bridget wasn't feeling well last night so he went into town and bought some medicine for her. Whatever he bought didn't sit well with her though. The medics thought perhaps she had a reaction to it. Molly and I were with Bridget this morning. She was barely conscious, but I have my fingers crossed she'll make a full recovery. She was coming around when the ambulance arrived."

Lana appeared startled, but her voice was calm, "I hope she makes a full recovery. One tragedy here is enough."

"More than enough," Gay said firmly as he read his menu.

# # # #

Bruce Tipton tumbled in when Nancy and Frank were giving their dinner order to the waiter.

"Another member of our table has just arrived," Frank told the waiter.

"I'll hold the orders until Mr. Tipton has ordered," the waiter informed Frank.

Bruce ambled to the table. He looked more presentable than he did this morning. His hair was combed, his clothes were clean, and he'd shaved.

"Bruce appears to be alone," Nancy said as Bruce approached the table. "Bridget must still be in the hospital."

Fatigue dogged every step Bruce took. His shoulders were hunched and Nancy noticed the dark circles under his eyes. She figured he hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours. The man had to be dead on his feet.

Once Bruce was seated and had ordered a drink and a meal, Nancy asked the question on everyone's lips. "How's Bridget?"

"Still in the hospital." Bruce reached for the glass of ice water at his place and took a healthy gulp. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

Frank put his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "How long will she have to stay?"

Bruce set the glass of water on the table. "Just tonight. The doctors wanted to keep her overnight for observation. Just to be safe, they said. You know how doctors are, they like to err on the side of caution."

Nancy's brow wrinkled. "What's their diagnosis? A reaction to the medicine?"

"That seems to be the consensus." The waiter arrived with Bruce's drink and handed it to him. Bruce downed a fourth in one gulp. "God, I needed that. This has been a helluva day."

"I imagine it has," Frank said. "We're all glad Bridget is doing better."

Bruce acknowledged the comment with a nod and took another sip of his drink. When he placed the drink on the table, he noticed Frank's hand. "What happened to your hand? It's swollen."

Heat charged up Frank's neck. "Uh, yeah. Had a little mishap this morning."

The dining room doors swung open and in came old Mr. North in his wheelchair. Jeremy Hill dutifully pushed the wheelchair. Miss Greta Swan followed two steps behind Jeremy. She carried a book and a briefcase. This would be a working dinner for Mr. North.

Nancy found it interesting that everyone had opted for a late dinner tonight.

"Good God," Bruce said his eyes widening. "Looks like someone took a swing at Jeremy. By the looks of it, I'd say he got his lights punched out."

An ugly, red cut glistened under Jeremy's left eye. His cheek was swollen and the skin mottled in shades of vibrant crimson.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Gary said. Unrestrained sarcasm tainted his words.

Bruce slowly lowered his head and eyed Frank's hand. When his head came up, he stared at Frank. "You and Jeremy have a fight?"

Frank sucked in a deep breath and his chest heaved. Nancy held her breath as she waited for Frank's answer. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. The incident had happened in Bruce's bungalow.

Frank grit his teeth. "He made a pass at Nancy this morning so I decked him." It wasn't a complete lie. Jeremy had pinned Nancy to the wall in a very compromising position.

Bruce chuckled. "Well, it's about time someone brought him down a notch or two."

"It is," Gary said with a heavy dose of satisfaction.

Nancy wondered if this was Gary's way of getting his licks in. He didn't seem the type to engage in a physical fight, but he could fight verbally. He could add his voice to the fray as he stood safely on the sidelines.

Bruce flashed a roguish smile. "What'd Jeremy do? He must've done something more than ogle Nancy for you to have decked him."

A scowl darkened Frank's features and a muscle twitched in his cheek. "He touched her. More than touched actually." The words were rough and raw and the truth.

Bruce's brows rose. "No kidding? Guy's got balls, I'll give him that. Doesn't mean he's not an idiot though. He should've known better than to mess with you." Bruce shifted his gaze back to Gary. "Like I said last night, leave it to Frank. He'll take care of Jeremy Hill for you and he has."

It was a cutting remark and Bruce's implication was clear. Frank's muscular frame, compared to Gary's lean one, indicated who would fare better in a fight against Jeremy, the man built like a linebacker.

Bruce sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair. He was beginning to enjoy the evening. Despite being dog-tired initially, he'd now found a second wind.

Nancy surveyed her tablemates. The comfortable companionship of earlier days was gone. Replaced by a subtle hostility on Bruce's part. His comments to Gary had been harsh and faintly mocking. Gary and Lana appeared stunned by Bruce's behavior and choose to avoid eye contact with him. Understandable, Nancy thought. She would have done the same.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived just then with the dinner salads. Food was a welcome diversion. Everyone could talk pleasantly about the food. The waiter's jovial mood defused some of the tense atmosphere that had developed around the table.

Nancy pressed her hand into Frank's and he looked at her. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything's fine. I'm looking forward to the band." Slow dancing with Frank will certainly relieve the simmering tension Nancy felt.

Frank stroked her knuckles with his thumb. "Me, too." He turned his head and jutted his chin at Gary. "How about you and Lana, are you staying for the band tonight?"

Gary glanced at Lana before saying, "I think so. We talked about it during our stroll along the beach." He gazed at his wife and waited for her reply.

Lana straightened her back and an endearing smile lit her face. "I'd like to stay, Gary. I enjoyed dancing the other night."

A delighted smile curled the corners of Gary's mouth. "Great. I wanted to stay, too. It'll be fun."

Fun. They all needed a little fun, Nancy thought and then caught sight of Jeremy Hill at the bar, in his usual spot. The bar lights cast a pale, yellow glow over him and accented his chilling, blue eyes. He was glowering at her or was it Frank. Perhaps it was both of them. She wondered what excuse Jeremy had given Mr. North for the cut on his face. And what had Mr. North made of the excuse?

Nancy glanced around the room as she ate her salad. Parents with children were finishing their meals and preparing to leave. Bedtime loomed for the younger ones. Older couples sipped coffee and sampled the latest dessert offerings. Mr. North and Greta Swan sat at a table in the corner. Greta read a book while Mr. North perused a stack of papers. A man as rich as Mr. North had constant business dealings to attend to.

Unbeknownst to Nancy, Bruce was doing a little surveillance of his own. Oh, he'd been slightly rude tonight, but he didn't care. His tablemates would most likely put his behavior down to fatigue and the stress of worrying about his wife. No one would be surprised when he excused himself early tonight. He had a plan to put into motion and did not want prying eyes. Luckily, he knew where everyone would be. Nancy, Frank, Gary, and Lana would be here dancing. Jeremy Hill would probably spend a good portion of his night at the bar nursing a beer and his wounded ego.

Tim and Molly were busy seeing to their guests' needs. Tim behind the bar and Molly among the diners. The couple would be here late due to the band.

Yes, Bruce knew where everyone would be tonight and that was important. For now however, he could sit back and relax. He sipped his drink and let his mind play over his plan.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, so it was back to the mystery this chapter and nothing bad happened while Frank and Nancy were paddle-boating. Yay! Breathe a sigh of relief there. As to clues and in response to a guest's comment, there are clues sprinkled throughout the story not necessarily in the previous chapter. Sorry about confusing people, but I don't want to say more and possibly give something away. ;)_

 _As for POV, I consider this a 'Nancy' story so things are told from her perspective ... mainly. Frank got his chance in "The Beach." I'm currently working on a Vanessa and Joe story and in that one I divide the POVs between Van and Joe. It's just the way the stories come to me._

 _Thank you all for the thoughtful comments! :)_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

She opened the bungalow door, took him by the hand, and they ran barefooted. Off the porch, down the steps, and to the beach. Stars dotted the night sky. A crescent moon hovered above the steel-gray ocean. The air was still.

She breathed deeply and the smell of brine and sea-weed filled her nose.

She ran faster, anxious to burn off nervous energy. He let her go and lagged behind. She splashed, ankle deep, into the ocean. The water was cool and refreshing. Just what she needed after hours of examining the newspaper photo.

"The water's wonderful," she called to Frank.

He waded in and placid waves washed over his ankles. His feet sank into the mushy sand. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back, into his embrace, and laid her head against his chest. She folded her arms over his and absorbed his warmth and strength. He brought peace and comfort to her restless spirit.

"I was going stir crazy staring at that photo," she whispered. To speak out loud would break the night's serenity.

"I know." He kissed the top of her hair. "We needed some fresh air. A mental break is always good. We can stroll along the beach if you like."

She turned and faced him. "I'd love to." A walk was indeed what she needed.

He took her by the hand and they strolled the water's edge. The occasional wave flowed around their feet and sucked at the sand beneath their heels.

Nancy's mind churned. She needed a compass for her thoughts which spun in too many directions. Her thoughts took diverging paths and then rejoined. Every time they came together one name emerged on top … Jeremy Hill. She had not been able to shake him from her mind. Not after what had happened that morning.

"He's dangerous," she said, her voice low and soft.

"Who?"

"Jeremy Hill."

Frank looked at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly on the sand. The moon's glow colored everything in a metallic gray. She watched silvery waves wash onto the beach and then recede.

"He bragged about different ways to subdue a person," Nancy said. "He knew all the pressure points on the human neck. My guess is, he's had training in martial arts, or Krav Maga, or both."

"Are you worried about him?" Frank's voice held concern and some anxiousness.

"No." Her answer was quick and confident. "I don't think he's after me. Not unless I get in his way, like I did today. He was up to something in the Tipton's bungalow and I surprised him. He went on the defensive and attacked. I wish I knew what he was up to. It would help narrow down the suspect list."

"I put in a few calls this morning to my old buddies in the Army CID. They're doing some checking for me. I might have more info on Jeremy Hill, or whoever he is, by tomorrow afternoon."

"That's good, but I'm not going to sit around and wait. I'm going to be proactive. It's time I had a conversation with Mr. North, Jeremy's employer. If anyone knows something about Jeremy Hill, it's Mr. North. I can't imagine that a successful business man like Mr. North would hire someone without checking them out. He has to know Jeremy's background."

"Very true," Frank agreed. "But how are you going to get Mr. North to share information with you?"

"Like I said this morning, it's all about conversations. A little conversation with Mr. North over coffee tomorrow morning should do the trick. I'll casually work Jeremy Hill into the conversation. It shouldn't be that hard."

Frank appeared dubious. "How exactly are you going to arrange coffee and conversation with Mr. North?"

A sly smile danced on Nancy's pink lips. "Tomorrow morning I'll take a walk past Mr. North's bungalow. He should be sitting on the porch just like he has been all the past mornings. Either by himself or with Miss Swan."

Nancy had noted Mr. North's habits when she and Frank had first arrived at the _Palms Resort_. Back then, she and Frank had taken a run on the Nature Trail every morning. Mr. North's bungalow was situated at the entrance and exit to the trail. She and Frank had waved to Mr. North each day as he sipped his coffee and enjoyed the sunshine.

"I'll wave and say 'hello,'" Nancy continued. "He'll wave and say 'good morning.' I'll ask how he's doing and he'll do the same. I'll wander closer and say how nice the weather is. The conversation will flow from there very naturally and innocently."

"Right." Frank chuckled under his breath.

"What? Don't you think it'll work?" Did he doubt her ability?

Frank spun her into his arms, surprising her. His eyes flashed in the moonlight. "You, Miss Drew, are far from innocent."

Nancy drew back in mock dismay and laid a hand on her chest. "Why, Frank Hardy, whatever are you suggesting?"

Frank tugged her close. "In the ways of the world you are very wise and I have no doubt you'll have old Mr. North talking up a storm before the morning's half over."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as a knowing grin curled her lips. "I think you meant more than that."

His lips came down on hers. He'd had enough of talking. The night was warm and humid, ripe for a stroll or romance. And at the moment, Frank's mind was on romance. The setting was perfect. Stars shone like diamonds in the sky. Gentle waves lapped the beach providing a soothing soundtrack. It was two in the morning. The beach was theirs. No one was around.

Nancy leaned into the kiss. Gave herself over to it. She didn't want to argue with Frank. Not when there were better ways to spend their time.

He broke the kiss and looked around. He saw some shrubs in the distance. They formed a black silhouette on the horizon.

"This way," he said, his voice deep and husky, his eyes dark with desire.

They jogged to the shrubs, a newfound urgency in their movements. Excitement coursed through them. How far should they go? This was a night to push the boundaries and make memories. When they were an old married couple they would look at each other with fondness and say, _Remember that night? The night we made love on the beach?_

As they neared the shrubs Nancy thought she heard a sound. A sigh or a groan?

She brushed Frank's shoulder with her cheek and whispered, "Did you hear that?"

Frank looked around, his senses on high alert. He'd detected movement to his right, somewhere behind the shrubs. The excitement he'd felt moments before waned and caution rose to take its place. He and Nancy were not alone.

He heard muffled moans and rhythmic thumps. Couple-noises? Had someone else had the same thought … a midnight tryst on the beach.

Frank thought of Nancy's lips and grinned at the sky. He didn't want to give up on tonight. Not yet. He motioned Nancy to go left while he went right. She nodded and they crept toward opposite ends of the jagged line of shrubs. Nancy got to the left end and crouched. She looked for Frank at the other end, but couldn't see him. The shadows were deep and dark along the shrubs. The moon's glow could not penetrate this gloom.

Nancy pushed to her feet and crept around the shrubs. This time she was sure of what she heard. A moan followed by a long gasp. Every hair on the back of her neck tingled.

For a moment, Nancy was bewildered by what she saw. Then, with a cold shock, understanding dawned. It was Bruce, sprawled on his back, a knife stuck in his throat. The moon's silvery glow illuminated him like a spotlight. His eyes were open and stared at the stars. Stars they could no longer see and would never see again. Tonight at dinner, he'd pushed too hard. He'd been bold and rash and rude. Now, death had shrunk him. Robbed him of his bravado and drained his life away.

Reality washed over her in an icy wave. She'd discovered another murder victim. She made an effort to compose herself. It wasn't easy. Frank rushed up beside her and hugged her to him. Crushed her to his chest.

He felt her tremble and held her tighter. "We have to go. We have to call the police," he said. She nodded against his chest.

They walked and then ran to their bungalow. Nancy was desperate to get away from the dead body. Bruce Tipton, she reminded herself. He had a name. Still had a name, but now he'd be referred to as _the body_ or _corpse_.

Just like Mr. Graves, she thought with sudden clarity. Both men had been killed with a knife to the throat.

She'd failed. She hadn't stopped the killer. He'd killed again and right under her nose.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Frank and Nancy were in Tim and Molly's office. Detectives Ellis and Gosling were there, too. They'd arrived thirty minutes after Frank called them and reported the murder of Bruce Tipton. Tim and Molly were also in the office. Detective Ellis had insisted. The owners had to be notified and present. The office felt cramped and stuffy with six people crammed into it.

Molly was frantic. The shock of another murder was too much for her to bear.

"We're ruined. Absolutely ruined," she wailed at Tim. "No one will ever want to stay here again. Who, in their right mind, would want to stay at a resort where people are murdered?" There was a touch of hysteria in her voice and her eyes were wild. They darted from person to person.

Tim was drawn and pale. It was clear he didn't know how to response to his wife or the situation.

Nancy knew hysteria when she saw it and took action. "Molly, let's get some coffee and tea set up in the dining room. I think everyone could use a cup of caffeine." Get her away from this room and her mind on something else was Nancy's plan.

Detective Ellis nodded his approval. "That would be wonderful. Thank you. Don't stray too far, Miss Drew. We have questions for you."

"Of course. Molly and I will be in the kitchen. It's not far away." Nancy took Molly by the arm and gently led her out of the room.

Tim mouthed a silent thank you to Nancy as the women exited.

Frank had not told Nancy about the figure he'd seen running away from the shrubs. His primary concern had been getting Nancy to safety, but now he told Ellis, Gosling, and Tim what he'd seen. He ended by saying, "I can't identify the man. I only saw his back. The light was poor and he was a good distance away. I couldn't even say how tall he was."

Ellis asked, "But you're sure it was a man?"

Frank thought for a second and then said, "Yes. The build was a man's and the way he ran was ... well, more masculine than feminine. I'm sorry. I know it's not much to go on."

Gosling had a police radio in his hand. "Which direction did he go?"

"Toward the Nature Trail."

Gosling's head came up and interest shone in his eyes. "Isn't that near Mr. North's bungalow, where Mr. Hill is staying?"

Frank nodded. "Yes, but I wouldn't put too much emphasis on the direction. The killer might've run that way to throw off the police."

Gosling gave Frank a look. _Don't try to tell me my job_. "I thought of that, but it's a starting point. The killer may have dropped something as he fled."

"Very true." Frank tipped his head to Gosling. _Good thinking_.

Gosling turned to Ellis. "I'll radio the uniforms to search that location and the immediate vicinity. Maybe they should search the Nature Trail as well."

"Couldn't hurt," Ellis said.

Gosling stepped outside the office to radio the instructions.

Tim was sitting in one of the wingback chairs. He found it odd to be in a visitor's chair and not behind his desk. He looked up at Ellis. "What can I do? I feel helpless just sitting here."

Ellis cleared his throat and his expression softened. "Enjoy the quiet while you can. You're about to have some very angry guests once I announce that no one is allowed to leave the resort."

Tim's mouth fell open. "What?" He came out of the chair. "You can't be serious."

Ellis remained calm. "I'm very serious, Mr. Kincaid. No one leaves until I say so."

"How long will that be?" Tim appeared shell-shocked.

"Could be a day or two. Could be a week. I don't know at this point, but I'll keep you informed." Ellis shifted his attention to include Frank. "First thing in the morning, we'll be interviewing all the guests … again."

Tim dropped into the chair and ran a hand through his dark hair. "This can't be happening. Molly's right. We'll be ruined."

"I'm sorry," Ellis said, not sounding sorry at all. "But it can't be helped. Surely, you realize that one of your guests is in all probability the killer. We can't let him leave, not before we've done a thorough investigation."

"I think he's getting desperate now," Frank said. The words were meant to give Tim hope of a quick resolution.

Gosling reentered the room. "Everything's set. More uniforms are being brought in. They'll search around each bungalow and down the Nature Trail. When day breaks, we can pull a few uniforms to help with interviews."

"Good work," Ellis said then turned to Tim. "Would you mind checking on the women, Mr. Kincaid? It might be best not to leave them alone too long."

Tim started. "Of course, why didn't I think of that?"

"You're under a lot of stress, Mr. Kincaid," Ellis said in a gentle, fatherly tone. He laid a hand on Tim's shoulder, leaned in closer, and lowered his voice. "You might want to inform your wife about the guests, too. About the fact that no one's leaving. Best that she knows it now and can prepare for it. Have Miss Drew there. She has a level head on her. She can comfort and convince your wife of the wisdom of having the guests stay. Miss Drew probably has experience with this. She's a former Chicago police officer and detective."

Frank grinned. If only Nancy had heard this little speech. She would have been so proud. First chance he got, he'd have to tell her about it.

Ellis closed the door behind Tim. To Frank, Ellis said, "Mr. Kincaid is still a suspect in this investigation. I didn't want him to hear your explanation of why you think the killer's become desperate."

Frank nodded that he understood. Ellis and Gosling waited for Frank to explain. He felt the weight of their expectations. He stroked his chin and considered his words carefully. "The way I see it, things have changed. The killer has changed his game plan. He didn't kill his wife this time. He killed a fellow guest. Why? That's the relevant question. Why kill someone else?"

Gosling jutted his chin at Frank. "The medical examiner says Mr. Tipton has defensive wounds and bruising. Looks like he was in a fight before he was stabbed in the throat."

Frank remembered the rhythmic thumps he'd heard. Not couple noises after all then. The sounds of two men struggling, fighting to the death.

Gosling was still talking, "Do you think Tipton figured out the killer's identity and confronted him tonight?"

Frank ran a hand over the back of his neck. "That would be my guess. But how? How did Tipton figure out who the killer was? Did he see or overhear something? And if so, why didn't he contact the police?"

"If he'd come to us," Gosling said, "he might still be alive and the killer behind bars."

"Instead, we have another victim." Ellis shook his head woefully.

Frank frowned and his dark brows knotted together. "We know why the killer killed Mr. Graves. Graves recognized him and the killer realized that. He had to act fast, kill Graves before he could talk, and around here, we all knew how Graves loved to talk. He'd drone on for hours if someone would let him. Given time, Graves would've slipped and revealed who he thought the killer was."

Gosling sighed, "So, why didn't Graves contact the police?"

Ellis peered over his glasses at Gosling. "Perhaps, he wasn't one hundred percent certain of his suspicion. Maybe it was only a guess as to the killer's identity. A very good guess I'd venture to say, but a guess nonetheless. What Graves' based his guess on, we haven't a clue. If we knew when, and how, Graves discovered the killer's identity it would help immensely."

Frank rested a hip on the edge of Tim's desk. "I've looked at the newspaper photo. Nancy and I examined it in great detail tonight with a magnifying glass. Neither of us can ID the man in the photo and, honestly, I can't see how Graves could either. The photo's too grainy. I have a feeling the photo's not what led Graves to the killer. Something else gave the killer away."

Ellis drew in a deep breath. "I believe you're right. That photo is rather worthless. If only we knew what tripped the killer up? What did Graves see that we haven't?"

"Maybe it was something the killer said or did …" Frank's voice trailed off.

# # # #

Molly was not happy when Tim informed her that, per Detective Ellis' instructions, no guests were allowed to leave the resort. To Tim, it seemed Molly took the news stoically. Initially at least, she seemed calm and resigned to the facts. But a minute later, she was on the verge of tears and full of questions. Would they – could they – charge guests forced to stay beyond their allotted time? And what about new arrivals? Were those on hold? How could they run a business like this, with so much uncertainty?

Tim shook his head meekly. He had no answers. They'd have to talk it over once Ellis and Gosling were off interviewing guests. Thankfully, Nancy stepped in just then and soothed Molly's rocky emotions. Nancy explained, in very reasonable terms, why the guests must stay. Everyone had to be questioned again. Bungalows would probably be searched this time. This had not been done when Mr. Graves was murdered. Now, with two murders, the police would be more thorough. No stone would be left unturned.

Tim felt useless, and a little helpless, as he listened to Nancy explain things in a very matter-of-fact manner. Tim hardly felt like a man. He was unable to comfort his wife or answer any of her questions. He stood there like a small boy and wondered what he should do. The women had everything organized and almost ready. His help wasn't needed.

Finally, he said, a bit resentfully, "I'll tell the detectives and Frank that the coffee and tea are ready."

Molly looked up then and met his gaze. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time that night. "Oh, would you, dear? Thanks so much." She put her arms around him in a spontaneous gesture and hugged him.

That made him feel better. He wanted things to be right between them. No doubts. No suspicions. No hard feelings. He'd worked hard to make this marriage a success.

He kissed her on the lips and whispered, "Everything's going to be all right, Molls. We'll get through this."

"I know." Her eyes were watery and he feared she'd burst into tears.

"I'd better go." He released her and left quickly.

Something about his hurried steps bothered Molly.

"Everything okay?" Nancy asked. She placed a tray of store bought donuts on the serving table.

"Yes," Molly said, her voice barely a whisper. She stared at her husband's back and wondered … was everything okay? Really okay? She had a sense … a feeling … that something wasn't quite right. Something was troubling Tim. She'd seen it in his eyes just now. What could it be?

# # # #

There was a tap on the office door and then it opened. Tim stuck his head in. "Coffee and tea are ready. Everything's set up in the dining room."

Ellis rubbed his hands together and smiled at Tim. "Thank you, Mr. Kincaid. We shall adjourn to the dining room, gentlemen."

Frank followed Ellis and Gosling out of the office. Frank was anxious to find Nancy and share information with her. He wondered if she'd learned anything while helping Molly … such as, was Tim in bed when the police called at his and Molly's bungalow tonight?


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Nancy and Frank took refuge at a table in a quiet corner of the dining room. The very corner Mr. North and Greta Swan had sat in at dinner that evening. Detective Ellis was questioning Tim and Molly in another corner of the dining room. Detective Gosling had gone to get an update on the search around the bungalows and the Nature Trail.

Nancy stirred cream into her tea. "I wonder about Tim. Would he jeopardize his business by killing two guests? Think of the bad publicity."

Frank frowned at her. "Is it really so hard to believe? What's the main reason people murder other people? For money. And isn't this case about money? Insurance money to be precise."

Nancy nodded and heaved a sigh. "Yes, it's very much about money."

"I don't know how Tim feels about the resort. It might mean nothing to him, it might mean everything. Doesn't really matter. Bottom line is, the resort will do fine in spite of bad publicity. Oh, business may lag a little at first, but eventually the story of the murders will fade and become a thing of the past. There might even be a few people who'll come here just to see the place where a murder, um, murders took place." Frank took a careful sip of his coffee and added, "In the long run, I don't think Tim and Molly have any real concerns regarding the resort. Things will work out, at least for the business."

"You're right." Nancy lifted her tea cup. "It's not the business we need to focus on, it's the marriage."

"Exactly. And speaking of marriages, how is theirs? Has Molly said anything?"

Nancy sipped her tea. "No, nothing other than what she told me the other day. Tim's worried about finances and the resort being successful. The way Molly described it, Tim might be overly concerned. He thinks and talks of nothing but the finances, she said. That could be considered a good thing, I said. Shows he's invested in the business." She looked at Frank questioningly. "Doesn't it?"

Frank stared at her a moment. "All about the finances, huh? Overly concerned about the money?"

"You don't think …"

"We can't rule him out. Not yet." Frank took a sip of his coffee. "I wonder if Tim took a midnight stroll tonight. You didn't happen to ask Molly about that, did you?"

"No. Sorry. She was a bundle of nerves. It was hard enough to get her to focus on making coffee and tea."

Frank nodded. "Yeah, she seemed pretty shaken up by all this. Perfectly understandable."

Nancy shifted in her chair. "Change of topic. Or change of suspect, if you will. What about Jeremy Hill?"

Frank's eyes narrowed and a cold, hard, edge came into his voice, "I don't like him."

"Neither do I, but there is something that puts him high on my suspect list."

Frank locked eyes with her. "What's that?"

"He has a thing for throats."

A hot rush of anger clenched Frank's jaw.

"He attacked my throat, remember?" A shudder went down Nancy's spine at the memory. "He knew all the vulnerable spots. He made a point of telling me about them and then demonstrating." Her hand reached reflectively for her neck. "Stabbing someone in the throat might be just his style." She exchanged looks with Frank. One of those looks that only people who've grown to know each other well can exchange – long and candid. "Don't you agree?"

Frank's jaw was clenched so tight he found it hard to speak. If Jeremy ever touched Nancy again … well, he'd be sorry. Frank didn't need to say that out loud. The look on Nancy's face said she'd already figured it out.

Frank reigned in his anger. "If you're asking me if I think Jeremy Hill is capable of murder, I'd say yes."

Nancy swallowed some tea and thought that over. Jeremy Hill capable of murder. How many people were capable of such an act? Soldiers and policemen were trained to kill in order to serve and protect others. A murderer usually killed in order to serve and protect themselves. That was a huge difference. But in either case, a line had to be crossed. For most people, it was not easy to cross that line and kill someone. However, once the line was crossed you could never go back. You could never un-kill someone.

Frank laid a hand on Nancy's arm and she came out of her thoughts. Molly was standing beside the table. She looked as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. And indeed, it was.

"Yes?" Nancy said, raising her eyes to meet Molly's.

"I .. I was wondering .." poor Molly couldn't even put her thoughts into words. Tears hovered at the corners of her eyes. What a horrible night this had been for her.

Nancy rose and reached out to the young woman. Wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "What is it, Molly? Tell me."

Molly took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Don't you think one of us, or maybe both of us, should go and see Bridget this morning. I mean, once it's visiting hours of course. Detective Ellis says he's going to tell her about Bruce first thing this morning and … and well, I just think she's going to need a shoulder to cry on." Molly looked ready to cry herself. "I .. I can't imagine getting that kind of news when you're all alone in a hospital in a strange town with no friends or relatives around."

Nancy hugged Molly and thought, what a sweet, gentle, soul Molly was. Nancy hoped Tim was the right man for Molly. A worthy man. Molly deserved nothing less.

"You're absolutely right," Nancy said. "And I'd be happy to go with you. Maybe we should get some clothes from Bridget's bungalow. She left here in only a nightgown and no shoes."

Molly gaped at Nancy, her mouth making a small O. "Oh my goodness, you're right. I'd forgotten that. Of course, Bruce would've taken care of the clothes, but … well, we'll go to the bungalow together. Let me clear it with Detective Ellis first."

Molly hurried off in the direction of Ellis. He was at the serving table refilling his coffee cup.

Frank came and stood next to Nancy.

Nancy looked up at Frank. "Looks like I've got a busy morning ahead of me." Then the fact this was their vacation hit her. Should she be running off and leaving him alone? "I can stay if you'd prefer."

"No." Frank laid a hand at the small of her back. "Go with Molly. It's the right thing to do. Bridget's going to need both you and Molly. Bad enough to lose her husband, twice as bad to be all alone when it happens. Don't worry about me. I have phone calls to make. My CID buddies might have some info on Jeremy Hill by now."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed," Nancy said.

Frank wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Nancy awoke groggy and unrested. She and Molly had gathered clothes, shoes, and toiletry items for Bridget from the Tipton's bungalow and then agreed to catch a few hours of sleep before heading to the hospital.

It had been three in the morning when Nancy and Frank tumbled into bed. She glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was now six-thirty in the morning.

A whole three hours of sleep. Great, she thought. Some vacation this was turning out to be.

She pushed herself up and brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. Frank was still dozing. She quietly slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

By the time Nancy finished showering and dressing, Frank was stirring. He shifted in the bed, rolled onto his back, and stretched an arm to the side. She watched his hand grope the sheets in search of her.

She sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on his bare chest. "I'm here," she whispered.

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at her. Then he pulled her on top of him and hugged her to him. She felt warm and loved within his embrace. He didn't need to talk and neither did she.

She lay there, her head on his chest, and thought; maybe, just maybe the world was an okay place again. There _was_ love and beauty amid the hate and ugliness. One just had to find it.

# # # #

Bridget sat up in her hospital bed and gave an empty, helpless smile. Nancy sensed that Bridget was teetering on the brink of desolation.

Nancy bent, hugged Bridget, and murmured in her ear, "I'm so sorry."

"It's a shock," Bridget said as Nancy stepped back.

Bridget pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table and dabbed at her eyes. "I .. I keep thinking, good God; why? What the hell did Bruce do to deserve this?" She looked up at her visitors, Nancy and Molly. "It's just so .. so evil." The last word was spat out as if it tasted bitter.

Nancy pulled a chair close to Bridget's bed. "Frank and I are kind of working with the detectives on the case." She shook her head at the idea. "Well, they're sharing information with us and we're sharing information with them. Frank still has connections in the military. They might prove useful. Between the detectives and us, we'll find out who did this and why. You have my word on that."

Bridget dabbed the corners of her eyes. "Thanks. I .. I just don't know what to do with myself."

Nancy tipped her head in Molly's direction and said, "Molly and I are here for you. We'll get you through this. Is there anyone you'd like us to call? Your parents, a brother or sister?"

Bridget shook her head vehemently. "God, no. My mom didn't like Bruce in the first place. She'll hardly care that he's … that he's dead. She'll probably tell me I'm better off without him."

Nancy suddenly felt very sad for the dark haired women lying in the hospital bed. Bridget seemed completely lost now that her husband was gone. Nancy gathered that, although the marriage had been short, it had been intense, in a good way.

Bridget blinked back tears and stifled a sob. "I .. I just can't believe it. It's just so … unreal. I keep expecting him to walk through that door." Her moist eyes trailed to the vacant doorway and teared up.

Nancy squeezed Bridget's hand. "Molly and I will drive you back to the resort when you're ready. One of us can stay with you for the next few days. If you'd like."

Molly laid a hand on Bridget's arm. "We're here for you, hon. Whatever you need, just ask."

Bridget broke down at that and sobbed for a full minute into the tissue. Her shoulders trembled and her chest heaved.

She loved him, Nancy thought. She had truly loved him.

# # # #

Nancy and Molly got Bridget settled in her bungalow. Bridget sat in the kitchenette area with a steaming cup of tea, contemplating her life, or what was left of it.

Nancy was busy tidying the bed and bedroom while Molly cleaned the bathroom. The maid had not made it to the bungalow yet and Molly had told Nancy that she didn't want Bridget to be disturbed later. Nancy had agreed saying, the fewer distractions the better. Besides, Bridget would have to face Detectives Ellis and Gosling and their questions before the day was over. That was going to be tough enough for the new widow.

As a detective herself, the one thing Nancy never looked forward to was interviewing family members after the death of a loved one. Grief and sorrow filled their hearts. Unfulfilled dreams, lost hopes, and the ever present ' _why'_ haunted their eyes.

The probing questions of an interview made the reality of murder a hard pill to swallow. Families fully realized that their loved one hadn't died of natural causes. Instead, they'd been singled out killed. There was a poignant difference.

 _Why?_

The question was always there, begging for an answer. Nancy knew the truth lay there, hidden in that question. Find the answer to _why_ and you found the answer to who and the reason for the killing.

Why had Bruce been killed?

Molly touched Nancy's arm and Nancy jumped. She'd been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't heard Molly enter the bedroom.

"Sorry," Molly said.

Nancy waved away Molly's concern. "It's okay. I was wrapped up in … in thinking about this whole thing." Words may fail Nancy, but she wouldn't fail Bridget.

Molly nodded her understanding. "It's almost lunch time. I need to see to things in the dining room. I can send a waitress or maid over with lunch for you and Bridget." An eyebrow rose just a trifle. "You are staying with her, aren't you, Nancy? At least for a while. I mean, I don't think Bridget should be alone. Not yet."

A weak smile tugged at the corners of Nancy's lips. "No, I'm not leaving. Not yet. And you're right, Bridget needs someone here. At first, for a few hours. Later, she'll want privacy." Nancy's expression grew somber. "The stages of grief. Everyone goes through them in their own way. We'll do the best we can. It's all anyone can do in circumstances like these."

"Do you think I should call her mother? I know she said she didn't want us to, but .. but really, doesn't a woman want her mother at a time like this?"

"You might be right." Nancy checked the hallway. She did not want Bridget listening in. "But I think we should wait until this evening. Let's give Bridget a chance to come to terms with the situation. I think after Ellis and Gosling interview her, she'll want her mother or a friend here. I've seen it happen in cases like this. At first, they think they're strong. They can go it alone. Then reality hits and they realize they need a shoulder to cry on, usually a familiar shoulder like mom or dad."

It was clear Molly valued Nancy's opinion and experience.

"Okay," Molly said. "Detective Ellis gave me the number for Bridget's mother."

"Good. One of us will probably have to make the call this evening," Nancy said. "I think she's going to be too shattered to do it herself."

"She looks pretty shattered already."

"Yes, she does. But she still has some hurdles to go before she finds any peace or acceptance," Nancy sighed. "It's a long road to acceptance. Some never get there."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Detective Ellis, the older, bespectacled detective, was waiting for Molly when she got to the dining room. He had a few questions for her, he said. Could she spare a minute?

Later, she would regret answering his questions. She would wish she had never given him one second of her time.

His questions upset her. His demeanor, too. He asked about Tim and what he was doing last night around midnight.

How in the world would Molly know? She'd been sound asleep. She assumed Tim was, too.

Could she say with one hundred percent certainty that her husband was in bed with her from midnight until 1:30 am?

The question stunned Molly. Actually, took her breath away. No, of course she couldn't say with certainty where her husband was. Like she'd said, she was asleep. Just exactly what was Detective Ellis implying?

Ellis cleared his throat and said, very matter-of-factly, "Mrs. Kincaid, there is a killer at your resort. I believe the killer to be a man, therefore, I must confirm the whereabouts of every male here at the resort between the hours of midnight and 1:30 am."

This line of reasoning staggered Molly. "You .. you think my husband is a killer?"

Ellis dipped his head and peered at Molly over the rims of his glasses. "I must look into all possibilities, Mrs. Kincaid. Every male here is considered a suspect. Even your husband."

"That's ridiculous," Molly's voice rose with indignation. "My husband would never do anything to jeopardize our business." She could tell by Ellis's expression that he thought her naïve. Husbands did all kinds of things that wives knew nothing about.

"He would _never_ do anything like .. like that," Molly reiterated, her voice hard and firm. She'd meant to sound confident and assured, and she did sound confident. Inside, however, she wasn't. A seed of doubt had taken hold.

Ellis cleared his throat again. "Ahem, yes, well, thank you. One last question, Mrs. Kincaid." He looked directly into her eyes. "Have you noticed any knives missing from the dining room?"

"I .. I .. no." Molly was numb. Knives. She didn't even know how many they had. She should know that, she realized. It was part of the resort's inventory. Maybe she would count them today, that way she would know exactly how many knives they had. Then she would know if any went missing in the future. Of course, her plan was too late to save Mr. Graves or Bruce Tipton.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Kincaid. I'll keep you and your husband updated on our findings as best I can."

Molly watched in stunned silence as Detective Ellis turned and left. In that moment, she did not like him very much and thought how rash and silly her feelings were. He was doing his job, asking necessary questions. Why was she resistant to those questions?

Because, she thought, they threw an unfavorable light on Tim and how well she knew her husband.

# # # #

It was nearing 2 pm when Molly returned to Bridget's bungalow. The lunch service had been frantic and chaotic. A jumble of disconnected images. Molly wasn't herself and knew it. However, she didn't have time to dwell on her problems. She had to relieve Nancy. Nancy had been with Bridget for two hours and deserved a break.

Nancy was a guest and shouldn't be watching over another guest. Tim had said as much at the lunch service. Molly had agreed with her husband, but what else could they do?

Tim's opinion was to call Bridget's family and let them deal with her. Molly had said, yes, she would do that – call the family – but later this evening, per Nancy's advice.

Tim had glared, stone-faced, at Molly. Then he'd thrown up his hands in a sort of gesture of surrender and exasperation and said, "Yes, well, whatever Nancy Drew says." He'd turned abruptly and, over his shoulder, practically spat out, "Excuse me, I have to get back to running _our_ business."

Oh, he'd definitely emphasized the ' _our'_ part of that sentence and a sick feeling had come over Molly. How could Tim feel that way? That only _he_ was running their business. That only _he_ had their best interests at heart.

She did, too! How could he not see that? She just didn't want to argue about it. Not now, not when the resort was in turmoil. Not when two guests had been killed. She didn't have the strength to argue or debate anything. She was dead on her feet. This had been a long, arduous day and, at the moment, Molly saw no end to it.

Please, she thought as she climbed the steps to Bridget's bungalow, please let the police find the killer soon. She and Tim could not afford to have another murder at _their_ resort. Another murder would surely ruin them.

Molly used her key and opened the door.

# # # #

Nancy was arranging pillows on the small sofa in the living room when she heard the door open. She turned at the sound and was shocked by Molly's haggard appearance. "Molly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Molly said unconvincingly and closed the door.

Nancy knew better. "You're exhausted."

Nancy guided Molly to the sofa she had just tidied and Molly sank onto it with gratitude. Nancy sat beside her.

"You look like you could use some rest," Nancy said. "I can stay here a while longer, Molly. You've been up since early this morning and on your feet most of that time. You deserve a rest break."

"You've been up all night, too," Molly wailed. The dark circles under her eyes were quite noticeable.

"Yes," Nancy said calmly, "but I don't have a business to run and all the stress that comes with it. We can get someone else to sit with Bridget for a short while." Nancy thought for a second and said, "I could ask Greta Swan. I'm sure she'd be willing to sit here for a while. Bridget's asleep now and might sleep for several hours. Greta would call us the minute Bridget wakes up."

Molly stared at Nancy. Her mind was numb, in a bit of a fog, and it took her a few seconds to process all the information.

Nancy smiled slightly. "I think Greta might enjoy getting away from Mr. North and Jeremy Hill. Being around men all the time can be quite tiring. I speak from experience on that point."

Nancy ran the Endeavor Detective Agency with brothers Frank and Joe Hardy. She knew firsthand the ups and downs of being surrounded by male thinking day in and day out. And dare she say … all that testosterone. Not that she was complaining …

Molly nodded numbly. "I think you might be right, Nancy. Do you mind calling Greta?"

"Not at all. How 'bout I stop by her bungalow and discuss it with her. Much easier to explain things in person." Besides, Nancy wanted to see Mr. North and question him about Jeremy Hill. This gave her the perfect opportunity to appear on his doorstep unannounced.

"You're right," Molly said. "Better to discuss it face to face. I'll stay here until Greta shows up. I might just lie down and relax for a bit."

Nancy pushed to her feet. "That's an excellent idea. Do you want a blanket from the bedroom?"

"No, thank you. I don't want to get too comfortable, I might fall asleep. Suddenly, I feel very tired. I can't remember ever feeling this tired before." Molly's voice had become sluggish. "Hopefully, Greta will agree to come and sit with Bridget."

"I'll send her as fast as I can." Nancy helped Molly position a sofa pillow under her head. "If Greta can't come, I'll come right back. I don't mind staying with Bridget for another few hours if necessary."

"Oh, I hope you don't have to do that." Molly's eyes grew wide and frightened and she half sat up. "Tim and I talked about this. He said we shouldn't have guests babysitting other guests. There has to be another way to do this."

Nancy lowered herself and knelt on the floor next to the sofa. "No one's forcing me to do anything. I don't mind looking after Bridget. If I were the one lying in that bedroom I'd like to think that other guests, well, people I'd made friends with while here, would be willing to care for me. At least, until a relative arrived."

"That's how I feel," Molly said. "That's why I don't want to leave Bridget alone."

"And you're not. Now relax."

Molly obediently laid her head on the pillow.

"Either I, or Greta, will be back shortly," Nancy said. "You're not alone in all of this, Molly. Frank and I are here for you and Tim."

Nancy rose and Molly stretched out an arm. Nancy squeezed the proffered hand.

"Thank you again, Nancy, for everything."

Nancy smiled down at the woman she considered a new friend. "All part of life. Life happens and you deal with it. Now rest. I'll send Greta as soon as possible. Like I said, if she can't come, I'll be right back."

"All right." Molly was already fading, her eyes closing.

Nancy found the key to the bungalow and tiptoed out. She locked the door behind her and headed along the wooden path that led to Mr. North's bungalow. She had questions for Mr. North. Questions she would only ask after Greta Swan was on her way to Bridget's bungalow.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

As Nancy predicted, Greta Swan was more than happy to sit with Bridget Tipton. Greta gathered up a book and a large handbag and headed for the door.

"You're sure you don't mind me going?" she asked Mr. North who was sitting in his wheelchair. "I haven't made your afternoon drink. Perhaps, I should stay."

Nancy saw that Greta wanted to go, but a sense of duty to Mr. North caused her to hesitate.

Mr. North shooed Greta away with a gnarled, claw-like hand. "Off with you, Miss Swan. I know you'd like a little time away from me and this bungalow. No, don't deny it. My feelings are not hurt and don't fret about me. Miss Drew, here, can make me my drink." He looked up at Nancy and she spotted a mischievous twinkle in his pale, faded eyes. "If she doesn't mind."

"Not at all," Nancy said quickly. A bright smile added emphasis to her words. Things were moving in the direction she wanted, time alone with Mr. North.

"There you go," Mr. North said to Greta. "Off with you now. I can spare you a few hours."

Greta nodded and opened the door. "Okay then. You have your cell phone there on your chair. You can call should you need me. Thank you, Mr. North."

Once the door closed, Mr. North said, "Silly woman. Thinks I can't get along on my own, not even for a minute. Of course, that's what I pay her to think."

He chuckled and smiled up at Nancy. She sensed he was very intuitive. Perhaps, manipulative, too. He knew how to get what he wanted from people. Nancy also had the feeling Mr. North wanted her to stay as much as she wanted to.

"Your drink," she said smiling.

Mr. North pressed buttons on his wheelchair and spun it around. "Over there." He pointed at a small bar area.

Nancy saw liquor bottles and cocktail glasses neatly arranged on a counter and wall shelves.

"Instructions for making a Manhattan are on a pad on the counter," Mr. North said. "Make two, one for yourself."

Nancy moved to the counter, picked up the pad, and read. Good Heavens, she couldn't drink one of these! She'd be out like a light. A Manhattan was pure alcohol. Whiskey and vermouth mixed together.

"I .. I think I'll pass on the Manhattan," she said politely and moved behind the bar.

"Oh well." Mr. North deflated like air escaping a balloon. "Miss Swan never joins me in a Manhattan either. Says it's too strong. She'll have a glass of wine though."

A bushy eyebrow rose and Mr. North peered at Nancy expectantly. Nancy got the message. Mr. North didn't like to drink alone.

"A half a glass of wine sounds nice," Nancy said. Anything to keep him happy and willing to talk.

Nancy made the Manhattan per the instructions on the pad. Once that was finished, she grabbed a bottle of wine on the counter and poured herself half a glass. She carried both drinks to the living room area. This bungalow was much larger than the rest. It was a full-fledged house.

Mr. North nodded his thanks when Nancy handed him his drink. He took a sip and smiled.

"Excellent," he said and seemed to mean it.

Nancy was secretly pleased. She had never made a Manhattan before. She took a seat on the plush sofa.

"Jeremy'll have a Manhattan with me on occasion," Mr. North said and sighed. "He's more a beer guy, but he knows his place and likes to indulge me. He makes good Manhattans."

Nancy wondered about that statement, _knows his place_. But more to the point, Mr. North had opened the door to a discussion of Jeremy Hill.

Nancy took a small sip of her wine and said, "Jeremy Hill. Where is he at the moment?"

Mr. North shrugged with great nonchalance. "Off doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who. Man's out of here the second he has time off. I don't complain. Man's always here when he's supposed to be. He's not one to neglect or shirk his duties."

"A good employee then," Nancy said, her expression neutral.

Mr. North's balding head wobbled from side to side as he gave considerable thought to Nancy's statement. He stuck out his bottom lip and said, "A good employee. Nothing more."

As welcome as this news was, Nancy wanted more. She had to tread carefully here, frame her questions just so. "Do you, um, do you know how Jeremy got his black eye?"

Mr. North narrowed his eyes and wrinkles seeped across his face. He peered at Nancy intensely. "Yes. I believe I do. He told me he made a pass at you and your husband decked him. Is that true?"

Nancy's cheeks grew hot and her voice was barely a whisper, "Yes, it is."

Nancy was surprised by her reaction and the fact that Jeremy had used the same excuse for his actions as she and Frank had.

 _He'd made a pass at her_. Actually, he'd attacked her. But then, she and Jeremy had both entered the Tipton's bungalow illegally. Nancy did not wish to reveal that bit of information to Mr. North. And apparently, Jeremy Hill did not either.

"I'm sorry about that," Mr. North said and Nancy felt his feelings were sincere. "I thought about firing him. Still might. I knew he was a womanizer. Never heard of him .. um, of him pushing the limits. Before this. Don't think he's had to."

Nancy nodded, gazed into her wine, and considered her next statement. Again, she tread carefully. "You know, Mr. North, it did make me wonder about his background."

"His background?" There was caution in Mr. North's voice and he stiffened in his wheelchair. Nancy felt the older man withdraw a little, sink into his himself. She sensed he did not want to give too much away in regard to Jeremy Hill. Jeremy Hill was an embarrassment.

Nancy pressed on, "What I meant was, well, there is usually something in an individual's background that can, ahem, that can indicate they are a less than honest person."

Mr. North avoided eye contact with Nancy and instead, sipped his drink.

Nancy persisted, "What do you really know about Jeremy Hill? I assume a man such as yourself, Mr. North, would have his employees thoroughly vetted before hiring them. You wouldn't want unpleasant surprises." There was a hint of accusation and defiance in Nancy's tone. She hoped she had not overplayed her hand.

Mr. North set his drink in a cup holder on the side of his wheelchair and folded his hands in his lap. "That is very true, Miss Drew, and I think you are a very clever young lady. From what I've heard, you were a detective with the Chicago PD. At the present, you run a detective agency with your husband, Frank Hardy. I suspect detecting and rooting around in people's business is part of your nature."

He paused and Nancy sensed a hardening of his resolve. "Let's not beat around the bush, Miss Drew. Why the interest in Jeremy's background? Are you asking as a victim who plans on pressing charges against him or are you asking as a detective?"

A cat-like gleam shone in Mr. North's pale eyes. "I hear you're working with the local police on the murders here at the resort. Do you suspect Jeremy of having something to do with them?"

Nancy was mildly shocked. Mr. North might be closing on 90 years old, but he was still mentally sharp. Not much got past his discerning eyes and ears. He had only one thing wrong. Frank was not her husband. However, she saw no reason to correct Mr. North's impression.

Nancy took a moment to gather her thoughts and wits. How exactly did she wish to proceed?

She came to a decision. A V formed between her furrowed brows. "Frank and I are lending a hand to the local police. That's all. Our role is limited. Mostly, we've only been asked to tell the police what we've seen or heard."

Nancy hoped Mr. North would leave the discussion of her and Frank's involvement at that. She wanted to get back to Jeremy Hill and his background.

With that in mind, she said, "I'll be honest, Mr. North. Jeremy Hill frightened me." Her eyes met old Mr. North's. She had his attention now. He was curious about what had happened. Nancy saw that in his eyes and answered that curiosity. "Jeremy .. he .. he touched me in a provocative way and he wouldn't back off when I asked him to. That really frightened me. I just wondered if he has a history of that? Of making unwanted advances towards women?"

Actually, she wondered much more than that, but this was a start.

Mr. North grimaced. He appeared pained by Nancy's allegations. "Now you've shocked me, Miss Drew. I knew Jeremy liked the ladies and they seemed to like him right back. Can't say I've ever heard of him forcing his intentions on anyone. That's .. that's disturbing news .. what you've just told me. I'd understand if you wanted to press charges against him. I wouldn't stand in your way. I'll probably fire him now that I know more of what happened."

Nancy shook her head. This wasn't the direction she wanted the conversation to take. "No. Thank you all the same, but I don't want to press charges. Frank did enough damage as you saw."

Nancy wanted information on Jeremy Hill's past and realized she was going to have to reveal a little more information in order to gain the information she sought.

"I'll be honest with you, Mr. North." This was not entirely true. "I believe I surprised Jeremy. I saw him nosing around Mr. and Mrs. Tipton's bungalow yesterday morning. It struck me as odd. I wondered what he was doing there. The Tiptons were gone, they were at the hospital. I thought perhaps, Jeremy didn't know that. I went over to tell him this and that's when he .. he touched me." She had almost said 'attacked me.' She'd caught herself at the last second.

The color – what little existed – drained from Mr. North's face. He gasped and sputtered and banged a fist on the arm of his wheelchair. "He promised me .. He swore .."

Mr. North shook with rage and guilt. Nancy had clearly upset him. She became worried about his heart. She placed her wine glass on the coffee table and went to him.

"Please. Mr. North. Calm down." She laid a hand on his shoulder and rested the other on his hand, a gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry. I've upset you. I shouldn't have said anything."

Mr. North looked at her, baffled. Expressions flickered across his heavily lined face. Nancy tried to decipher the emotions. Sorrow, sadness, confusion, guilt …

"Sir, what is it? Are you okay? Should I call Greta Swan?"

Mr. North snapped back to his normal rigid posture and glared at Nancy. "Heavens no! I'm fine." He swatted Nancy away, much as he'd swatted Greta Swan out the door earlier. "For Heavens' sakes. I'm fine. Get. Get back on the sofa."

Nancy backed off and resumed her spot on the sofa. She kept a watchful eye on Mr. North, searching for any signs of distress. She was still worried about him.

"You caught me by surprise, Miss Drew." He fought with his drink in the cup holder, trying to get it out. Nancy was about to assist when he pulled it free and took a healthy sip.

"Good Manhattan," he said and toasted her with his glass, a smile creeping at the corners of his cracked lips.

Relief flooded Nancy's body. Mr. North was perfectly fine and back to his old, rakish self.

He pointed at her wine and said, "Finish your drink then you can make me another Manhattan."

Nancy took an obedient sip. The liquid was harsh and metallic in her mouth. She had no desire for alcohol at the moment. Her mind was on Mr. North's words, " _He promised me .. He swore .._ "

Nancy's gaze shifted from her wine glass to Mr. North. She stared at him wide-eyed and innocent. "What did he promise you?" It was time to go for broke.

Something akin to malice glinted in Mr. North's eyes. "You're a persistent woman, aren't you? Don't give up until you've gotten all the answers."

Nancy gave a slight shrug and a bit of a smile. "Forgive me, but I am trying to find a murderer."

Mr. North rolled his eyes. "Best look elsewhere then. Jeremy's a thief, not a murderer. Far as I know."

 _A thief_.

Nancy was stunned. She sat very still as this news bounced around in her mind. She toyed with different ideas and what they meant. Or could mean. A thief did not necessarily a murderer make. Had Jeremy been in the process of robbing the Tiptons when Nancy entered their bungalow?

Had Jeremy ever killed in order to protect his secret?

# # # #

Twenty minutes later Nancy was on her way to her bungalow. She'd made Mr. North his second Manhattan and left. Begged off saying she really needed some rest. That much was true. She also wanted to call Greta and check on Bridget. Then she would call Frank. She hadn't seen him since early this morning and missed him. She missed his easy smile and the way he looked at her. Like he never wanted her far from his side. Her heart ached. They'd been apart far too long today. This murder investigation had sent them in different directions. That had to change. They needed some time alone. Some quality time together. This was a vacation after all.

She unlocked the bungalow door and stepped inside. It was quiet and still. She'd had hoped Frank would be back and waiting for her. Such was not the case and suddenly, she was very sad. Forlorn. She wanted to share her news with him, tell him that Jeremy Hill was a thief and had a criminal record.

She dropped her handbag on the dinette table. Oh well, she'd just have to wait. With any luck, Frank had news to share with her. This thought brightened her spirits. She would make a cup of tea and call Greta. Time to check on Bridget .. oh, and Molly. Molly had been so tired …

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you to those who left a review and welcomed me back. Glad to be back and hope to post on a somewhat semi-regular basis. I, unfortunately, cannot make any promises. But nice to see that people are still interested in this story, the mystery, and F/N. Me, too! :)_


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Special notes: MOS means Military Occupational Specialty, or "job." PFC stands for Private First Class. That's a rank within the U.S. Army._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

Frank had spent the morning stalking his prey. He had slipped behind shrubs and palm trees when possible. Most of the time Frank had been forced to spy from a distance. There were not many hiding places this close to the beach. Frank had watched Jeremy Hill nose around the Resort's bungalows, sniffing out vulnerable ones.

Jeremy stayed well clear of his own bungalow, the one he shared with Mr. North and Greta Swan. But the other nine were fair game.

Frank had watched Jeremy peer in windows and test doors. So far, all doors had been locked. Guests were leery now. No one was taking chances. A murderer was on the loose. He'd struck twice at the Resort and could strike again.

First thing that morning, after Nancy departed for the hospital with Molly, Frank had found a bench on the beach and called Keith Pavlik. Keith was an old buddy in the Army CID (Criminal Investigation Division). Frank and Keith had been partners for two years.

Frank replayed the morning's conversation in his mind:

" _Keith, how's it going? Got anything for me?"_

" _Things are going fine, Hardy. Can't complain. Doesn't do any good."_

" _Ain't that the truth." Frank chuckled._

" _Hey, I got some info for you."_

" _Great. Hit me."_

" _Hold on to your hat, Hardy. You're not going to believe this, but Jeremy Hill did time in Leavenworth."_

 _Frank paused. Doing time in Leavenworth was an old Army joke. Leavenworth was an Army prison and a fort. People said they were doing time when they visited Fort Leavenworth or were stationed there. This time, however, Frank knew Keith meant Jeremy had been incarcerated._

" _Why does this not surprise me?" Frank said. "I had a feeling this joker was prior military."_

" _Yep. He was army green like you and me."_

" _What was his MOS?"_

" _Orderly Room Clerk."_

" _How does a dude working in the Orderly Room wind up in Leavenworth? By the way, how much time did he do?"_

" _Two years. And, bro, Orderly Room Clerk is a good job for someone with sticky fingers. The job gave him access to lots of keys and all those keys gave him access to lots of stuff. You know, like office supplies, weapons' lockers, ammo .."_

" _I don't like where this is going, Keith."_

" _Nope and neither did I. Seems PFC Jeremy Hill helped himself to a lot of stuff and sold it on the black market. Hell, he skipped the black market on the office supplies. Just sold those to an Office Mart or something. Made pure profit on them. The records say the Office Mart manager didn't know the items were stolen."_

" _Yeah, right." Sarcasm dripped off the words._

" _I know. My heart breaks for the poor guy." There was not a single note of sympathy in Keith's voice. "He did time in the state prison for receiving stolen goods. Guess the jury didn't buy his 'I didn't know' act."_

" _Nice to hear there's a little justice in this world."_

 _Frank leaned back on the bench and stretched an arm along the back. "Did you check out the other name I gave you?"_

" _Sure did. Mr. Abel North. Eighty-nine years old. Billionaire and recluse. Made his money in oil rigs off the coast of Florida. Had business dealings with Exxon Mobile, Chesapeake Energy, and hold on to your hat again; the military."_

" _The Army?"_

" _Army and Navy."_

" _Damn. Is that how he met Hill?"_

" _Haven't a clue. All's I can tell you is, Mr. North is a real piece of work. Dude's old, but still known as a cutthroat. Ruthless in business. From what I gather from the records he had some dirty dealings with the military and they severed ties with him."_

" _Hmm," Frank mused and at that moment spied Jeremy Hill ambling along the beach. Apparently, Jeremy had been in town earlier and was just now returning to the Resort. "I gotta go, Keith. Update me if you get any more info on Mr. North."_

" _Will do, Hardy. And take care. Jeremy Hill didn't do two years in Leavenworth because he's a nice guy."_

" _Got that right."_

Now here Frank was, two hours later, trailing Jeremy around the Resort, waiting for him to make a mistake.

Jeremy had worked his way, surreptitiously, to yet another bungalow. He glanced around and then tried the doorknob. Locked.

Frank, hidden behind the Resort's trash dumpster, sensed Jeremy's frustration. There was tension in Jeremy's clenched jaw and a ripple of anger along his shoulders.

Dude was having a bad day.

Jeremy wandered to the next bungalow. Approached it with caution like he had the previous ones. Circled around the outside first. Listening for inside noises, Frank guessed.

Jeremy eyed all the windows as he circled. The curtains were open and he peeked inside. He made a decision and climbed the steps to the porch and door. He acted casual, like he was supposed to be there.

He grabbed the doorknob with his left hand and knocked with his right hand. Waited two seconds and then turned the knob. The door opened and Jeremy disappeared inside.

Frank was astonished. Someone had left their door unlocked. Frank did not know the guests renting this particular bungalow, but he could see the bungalow's number. _Three_. Frank pulled out his phone and texted Nancy. Just a quick note, he didn't want to take his eyes off of the bungalow, not for a second.

 _Jeremy just broke into bungalow # 3_.

Frank figured it was best to keep Nancy in the loop. Let her know what was happening.

Well, nothing happened for a full two minutes. Frank stood next to the dumpster, sweating in the hot sun, his eyes never leaving the front door of the bungalow. Frank wiped a thin line of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and decided he was officially finished standing in the scotching sun. Most of the morning had been spent in it and now he wanted the cooling shade of the bungalow. The bungalow Jeremy was in. Uninvited.

Frank ambled toward the bungalow. Made it look like he'd been coming along the wooden path that connected all the bungalows. Made it look like he was out for a walk, just another guest strolling around the resort.

As Frank neared the bungalow he checked his watch. Three minutes and still no sign of Jeremy.

Frank decided to head for the back of the bungalow. Jeremy might be exiting a window.

Frank slid along the wall of the bungalow, got to the corner, took a deep breath, and poked his head around.

Nothing. He saw nothing but sand and palm trees. No Jeremy Hill.

Frank walked around the corner. He should head back to the front. Maybe catch Jeremy coming out the front door.

Frank took two quick steps before a hard kick to the small of his back sent him sprawling, face down, on the sand. The kick, and impact with the ground, knocked some of the air out of his lungs. He felt a moment of panic as he gasped for breath. His senses were razor sharp now though and he heard his attacker moving closer. Frank rolled over, propped himself on his elbows, and snarled up his attacker.

Jeremy. No surprise there. However, what Jeremy held in his hand was a surprise and it made Frank's heart jump.

A knife. A steak knife to be exact. It looked like the knives found in the Resort's dining room, like the knives used to kill old Mr. Graves and Bruce Tipton.

Jeremy's eyes narrowed to icy blue slits and his menacing glare settled on Frank like a deadly laser. "Following me, Hardy?"

Frank got up, slow and caution, his glaze never straying from the knife in Jeremy's hand. Jeremy's grip had tightened noticeably.

"What? You plan on stabbing me?" Frank's voice was a low growl. He returned Jeremy's glare with one of his own. "Think again. That's never going to happen."

Jeremy didn't quite agree with Frank's assessment. He was the one holding the knife and felt it very likely that Frank would be stabbed … should be stabbed.

Jeremy was prepared to prove his point. He stepped forward and took a swipe at Frank with the knife. Frank backed up just in time and watched the blade whizz past his chest.

Jeremy laughed, an unpleasant laugh filled with malice. Frank was on the defensive and Jeremy took great joy in the moment. He lunged and thrust the knife at Frank, a series of quick, jabbing motions. Frank scrambled backwards, out of range of the blade. The sand made rapid movement difficult. Frank stumbled and almost fell.

Jeremy seized the small opening and lashed out with the knife, cutting big Xs in the air between himself and Frank. Frank swerved and dipped, almost fell again. He was finding it nearly impossible to avoid Jeremy's wild, frantic slashes.

And then Frank saw his opportunity. It was all around him.

Jeremy took another very calculated swipe at Frank's chest and Frank fell to the ground. The fall had been deliberate. Frank scooped up a handful of sand and flung it into Jeremy's face.

"Argggghhhh!" Jeremy staggered back, blinking and squinting, his eyes beginning to tear.

Frank sprang to his feet and threw another handful of sand into Jeremy's face. Frank had a damn good right arm. He'd been a starting pitcher in college and high school. His fastball had been clocked at 95mph. This was sand, but it still hurt like hell.

Jeremy was hurting, but he hadn't given up the fight. Through blurry, watery eyes, he spied Frank. The enemy. Jeremy lifted the knife over his head and moved in for the kill. He would bury the knife in Frank's neck.

Frank blocked Jeremy's incoming thrust with his left forearm and followed with a straight right. Frank had a damn good right arm. His right fist slammed into Jeremy's left cheek, right on the swollen, tender gash beneath Jeremy's eye. Right where Frank had punched Jeremy a day ago.

Blood spurted and tiny, wet, blood droplets splattered Frank's face.

Jeremy dropped to his knees in shock and pain. The knife, however, was still firmly in his hand. Blood and tears blurred his vision. Yet again, he found himself on the defensive against Frank Hardy. This was a place Jeremy did not like to be. Grunting, he slashed and stabbed the air wildly. Anything to keep his opponent at bay. He blinked and squinted and tried to get a visual on Frank. A good visual.

Frank dodged the knife and edged around Jeremy. Frank lifted his leg and planted a swift, viscous kick in the center of Jeremy's back. Jeremy plowed into the sand face first. The force of the impact knocked the knife from his hand.

"Frank!" It was Nancy.

Frank turned in the direction of her voice. That was all the diversion Jeremy needed. He scrambled to his feet and bolted. Ran like his life depended on it.

Frank hesitated. Should he pursue Jeremy or not?

Nancy came running up. "Frank, I got your message." She looked at Jeremy's fleeing form and then at Frank. "What happened? Did Jeremy steal something?"

Frank felt the adrenaline high he'd been riding evaporate. He angled his head toward Nancy, but kept half an eye on Jeremy's disappearing back. "No. Um, actually, I'm not sure."

"Frank, you're bleeding." Nancy's eyebrows rose as she pointed at Frank's left forearm.

Frank looked at his arm with mild surprise. It wasn't unusual to be wounded in battle and not feel a thing. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Nancy searched Frank's face and then the surroundings. She spotted the knife on the sand. "Nothing? What about that?" She pointed at the knife, her posture defiant. _Don't lie to me Frank Hardy_.

Frank held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. He came at me with a knife."

Nancy squatted and examined the knife. She didn't dare touch it. It could prove to be valuable evidence.

She lifted her chin and locked eyes with Frank. "It looks like the same type of knife used in the previous two murders. I'd say it came from the Resort's dining room."

Thin lines of blood ran down Frank's forearm as he went down on one knee next to Nancy. He studied the knife for a moment and said, "I agree. Now whether that means Jeremy is our killer or not is yet to be seen."

"Or proven." Nancy smiled at Frank. "I took the liberty of calling Detective Gosling before I came. He should be here any minute."

And indeed, he was. Gosling bagged and tagged the knife and took Frank's statement. Frank told of his morning conversation with his buddy, Keith Pavlik. Frank told how he had decided to follow Jeremy around the Resort and how Jeremy had gone from bungalow to bungalow until he found one that was unlocked and had entered it.

Gosling wrote everything down and thanked Frank. He clipped his pen onto his notepad and asked Frank one last question, "Do you want to press charges against Jeremy Hill for the attack?"

Frank shook his head. "No. Just catch him. That's enough for me."

Gosling nodded and said, "I'm going to call Ellis, inform him of what happened and get an APB issued for Jeremy Hill. I don't imagine he'll get very far. Not with a cut on his face. He should be easy to spot."

Frank lipped his dry lips. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know when he's apprehended."

Gosling studied his notepad for a second before meeting Frank's steady gaze. "Sure, I'll keep you informed. I have your cell phone number." He paused a beat and cocked his head. "Ellis might be willing to let you listen in when we question Mr. Hill."

"I'd like that," Frank said.

"I'll discuss it with Ellis," Gosling promised.

Frank and Nancy thanked Gosling and took their leave while Gosling called Ellis.

Nancy took Frank by the arm and led him toward the wooden path. "Time to clean and bandage your wound." There was a bit of mirth in her tone. It was a minor wound, but a wound all the same.

Frank looked at his forearm. He'd honestly forgotten – again – about the cut. The blood had dried and formed a network of thin lines crisscrossing his arm. "It doesn't hurt," he said.

Nancy shook her head and grinned at him. "It still needs to be cleaned and bandaged even if it isn't a serious wound." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "My turn to take care of you." She was thinking of her knee and how Frank had tended to her.

Frank put an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and captured her lips with his. He kissed her deeply and sincerely. He felt a much needed calm and contentment descend upon him. That was what Nancy did. She brought calm and contentment to his soul. Her presence, her caring heart … her love … it filled him and soothed him. Made him a better man.

He released her lips and smiled at her. He really should tell her all of that sometime. Sometime soon.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: Thank you, dear reviewers so much for the nice reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciated them. It's heartening to hear that people like/LOVE this story. :) Also, I wanted to point out that I added the definition of MOS and PFC at the top of Chapter 23. Now, on with the story ..._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

Frank turned the shower off. He felt refreshed and recharged. The shower had rinsed away the sweat and blood of the morning.

Nancy knocked on the bathroom door.

"Yeah?" Frank called out.

Nancy opened the door and poked her head in just as Frank stepped out of the shower. Nancy took a moment to soak in the view. Frank sans clothes was a feast for the eyes. He was all hard planes and muscles. Indisputably masculine. And that was something Nancy very much appreciated.

"Um, sorry. I .. I should've waited." She dipped her head in the hopes of hiding an amorous grin.

Her maneuver did not work and Frank smiled broadly. "Your eyes say otherwise, milady." He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

Nancy blushed adorably and cleared her throat. "Ahem. Well, be that as it may, I have news."

And with those words, Frank's attention shifted to the case. Where it should probably have been given recent events.

Frank grabbed another towel and dried his hair. "What's up?"

Nancy opened the bathroom door wider and leaned against the frame. "Gosling just called. They found Jeremy Hill."

Frank stopped drying his hair. "That was fast."

"It was," Nancy agreed.

Frank draped the hair-drying towel on the shower bar and exited the bathroom. Nancy followed in his wake.

As they entered the bedroom, Nancy said, "Jeremy's on the way to the hospital."

Frank had pulled open a dresser drawer to get clean underwear, shorts, and a t-shirt. He turned and stared at Nancy. "Hospital?"

"Yes. According to witnesses, Jeremy stepped in front of a car. He was in town, creating quite a scene, bleeding and stumbling along the sidewalk when suddenly, he stepped off the curb and into oncoming traffic. Several people called 911."

Frank nabbed a t-shirt from the drawer and pulled it over his head and shoulders. "Might've been the sand I threw in his eyes. I don't think he could see very well. How bad's he hurt?"

"Gosling didn't know. He's on the way to the hospital to find out. He promised to call back as soon as he has more information."

Frank grinned. "Good ole Gosling, keeping us in the loop. I like that." Frank grabbed underwear from the drawer, let the towel around his waist drop, and stepped into the underwear. "Eyes up, Drew," he said with a mischievous smirk.

"Oh, um, right." Nancy blushed again and again, Frank found it utterly endearing.

Frank slipped on a pair of shorts and then held out his arm for Nancy to inspect. "The cut doesn't look too bad after a shower."

Nancy drew closer and examined the pencil-thin, red line on Frank's forearm. "No, it doesn't look bad at all," she said. "However, some antiseptic and a band-aid couldn't hurt. I have everything ready in the kitchenette."

"Meet you there in a sec. Just let me hang up this towel."

Once Frank was seated at the dinette table, Nancy worked her magic with antiseptic and band-aids. As she worked, she shared more information. "Gosling said he spoke to Tim Kincaid shortly after we left. He told Tim about Jeremy and how he attacked you with a knife. A knife that eerily resembles the knives used here at the resort."

Frank's expression twisted into a grimace. "I'm sure Tim was happy to hear that. That's all he and Molly need, more bad news."

Nancy sighed. "My thoughts exactly." She started putting the few medical supplies into a plastic bag. "Gosling also said Tim was disappointed to hear that you weren't planning to press charges against Jeremy. Tim doesn't understand why you won't. Gosling said he didn't understand it either."

Frank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Nancy sensed an internal struggle within Frank. "Do you know why I don't want to press charges?"

Nancy blinked a couple of times and haltingly said, "I think I do."

"If you're thinking of when you went snooping in the Tiptons' bungalow then you would be correct."

Nancy looked miserable. She nodded meekly. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

Frank leaned forward and put his forearms on the table. "If I press charges against Jeremy he can counter with our misbehavior. Both you and I were in the Tiptons' bungalow that day, without their permission or knowledge. We broke the law just as he did. If I charge him with a crime, he can throw my own crime right back at me. It's a no-win situation and it puts us in a bad light."

Nancy's bottom lip quivered ever-so slightly. Her hasty actions might jeopardize the case. "I'm sorry, Frank."

Frank took her hand in his and spoke softly, tenderly, "I'm not mad at you, Nan. Please, I didn't mean to .."

Nancy shook her head to brush away his apology. "It's okay, Frank. You should be mad at me. I was wrong. I acted on impulse and made a mistake. I promise, it won't happen again."

He studied her face. His gaze alighted on every feature. Her aquiline nose with the faintest dusting of freckles. Her strawberry-blonde hair falling in lush waves around her shoulders. Her troubled eyes. She was distraught, her spirit crushed. And he was the reason.

"Nancy, please, I'm not mad at you and your snooping actually helped us."

She stared at him wide-eyed. "How?"

"If you hadn't gone to the Tiptons' bungalow that day we'd never have known that Jeremy was there. The way he reacted to finding you there was weird or stupid or something else entirely. In any case, he set off a ton of red flags and we investigated him a little harder. We now know more about his background and his penchant for stealing."

Nancy relaxed a bit. "I think you're being overly generous in your assessment of my actions, but it's nice to hear I might have helped."

"Being impulsive isn't always a bad thing, Nan."

"I'll accept that," Nancy said with a small smile. "Of course, now, with what we know about Jeremy, I have to assume he was in the Tiptons' bungalow to rob them."

"That makes the most sense. I wonder if he stole anything?"

Nancy glanced at her watch, then at Frank, and said, "I have an idea. It's time for me to relieve Greta Swan. She's been at Bridget's for two hours. While I'm at Bridget's bungalow I'll tell both women about what happened today with you and Jeremy. I'll casually suggest to Bridget that she might want to check her belongings and see if anything's missing." Nancy paused and frowned. "I wonder if Greta knows about Jeremy's history of stealing?"

"I'd like to know the answer to that question, too." A thoughtful crease formed on Frank's brow.

"Hmmm." Nancy tapped her chin with an index finger, a gesture of concentration. "I'm thinking ..."

"Thinking's always good." Frank waited.

"I'm thinking you could check on Mr. North while I'm at Bridget's. I don't know if anyone has told him about Jeremy. Mr. North probably doesn't know his bodyguard, and I use that term loosely, is in the hospital." She fixed a steady, blue gaze on Frank. "Don't you think he deserves to know what's happened and that Jeremy broke into a bungalow today?"

A grin broke the corners of Frank's mouth. "I do and this will give me an opportunity to speak with Mr. North alone. I have a few questions of my own I'd like to ask him."

During their short walk to their bungalow after departing Detective Gosling, Nancy had filled Frank in on her conservation with Mr. North.

"I'm curious," Frank said, "about how Mr. North came to hire Jeremy. From what you told me, Mr. North knew of Jeremy's past. He knew of the thefts and prison time, yet he hired him anyway. Doesn't sound like a good business practice to me."

"To me either." Nancy stood and reached for her phone lying on the table. It was getting late. She dropped the phone in her handbag and turned to Frank. "I need to get going. I'm curious to see Greta Swan's reaction once she hears about Jeremy. I suspect she'll want to get check on Mr. North as soon as possible. I got the distinct impression she worries about him."

Frank pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "Hold her off a while if you can. Give me a chance to question North alone."

Nancy gave Frank a wink and a nod. "I'll do my best."

A kiss for luck and each was on their way, to separate and very different destinations.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Frank found Mr. North sitting on the porch of his bungalow. He wasn't in his wheelchair. He was slumped in a rattan chair, his head resting on his shoulder. The slight rise and fall of his chest indicated he was dozing.

Frank almost hated to wake him. Frank imagined Mr. North took many catnaps throughout the day. Such was the life of the elderly. However, Mr. North looked uncomfortable and Frank had questions. Time was of the essence. Wasn't that always true in a murder case?

Frank cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem. Excuse me, Mr. North?"

One wrinkled eyelid rose halfway and Mr. North peered at Frank for a moment, getting his bearings.

Frank waited patiently as Mr. North lifted his head and came fully awake.

Mr. North reached for a glass of water on the table beside him and sipped. He replaced the glass on the table and tilted his head so that he had Frank squarely in his piercing gaze. He shifted in the rattan chair, grunted, and said, "The other half of the dynamic duo."

Frank's brow creased in confusion. "Pardon?"

"First your missus and now you." Mr. North eyed his visitor for a second and said, "You look like a man on a mission. What brings you to my doorstep?"

Frank had been leaning against the porch railing. Now, he pushed off and stepped closer to Mr. North. Frank motioned to a rattan chair as he approached. _Mind if I sit?_ Mr. North nodded his assent and Frank sat.

"I'm here because of Jeremy Hill."

Curiosity flickered across Mr. North's withered face. "Jeremy Hill? What's he done?"

Frank leaned back in the rattan chair. "I followed him this morning." Best not to go into the reasons why, Frank thought, and jumped to the conclusion. "He entered another guest's bungalow without permission."

Mr. North eyed Frank with great speculation and an ounce of annoyance. "Really? Why were you following him? You follow every guest?"

Frank folded his hands in his lap. "No, I don't make a habit of following guests around. However, I had obtained information on Jeremy Hill this morning, information that indicated he was .. used to be .. a thief."

Mr. North rolled his eyes. This was old news. News that held no significance for him. He had told Miss Drew as much this morning.

"There's a little more to it," Frank said. He'd seen Mr. North roll his eyes and knew exactly what the old man was thinking. "Jeremy Hill attacked me when he came out of the bungalow."

Mr. North gave half a shrug. Young men and their fights over women held no interest for him.

"He attacked me with a knife. The same type of knife used in Mr. Graves' murder and Bruce Tipton's murder."

Mr. North reached for his water and took a sip. He held onto the glass and rested it on his lap. "Jeremy Hill is not a murderer. I wouldn't hire a murderer." He sounded bored.

Frank leaned forward in his chair. "So, you did a thorough background check on Jeremy Hill before hiring him?"

Mr. North's face hardened. He ran a gnarled hand over his chin and thin lips. "Yes, I did a thorough investigation. And, for the record, you're starting to annoy me. I much prefer your other half, Miss Drew. Rather pretty that one. Although," he allowed himself a moment's reflection on Nancy Drew, "I think given enough time, she could be annoying, too." His eyes sought Frank's and he added, "Very persistent, your Miss Drew. I suspect she doesn't give up easily."

A smile softened Frank's features. "You are correct, sir. Persistence is her middle name."

Mr. North seemed none too impressed. "Figures."

"Back to Jeremy Hill," Frank said. "I assume you knew he had stolen from the Army and that he'd been incarcerated in Leavenworth."

"Yep." Mr. North nodded and sipped his water.

"Then why hire him?" A bit of annoyance had crept into Frank's voice.

North shrugged, unconcerned. "Everyone deserves a second chance. Stealing's not the worst of mankind's vices." His gaze settled on Frank and Frank sensed a distinct challenge in that cold, hard glare.

Yeah, whatever, Frank thought. "Tell me, when did Jeremy start working for you?"

North cocked his head and considered. "Oh, about four years ago. Right after he got out of prison."

Frank's frown formed deep furrows on his forehead. "How in the world did you come to hire him right out of prison? Had he applied for a job at your company?" Frank felt like he had to fight for every answer.

North was none too pleased either. His grip on his glass of water tightened considerably. "You know, young man, I don't like being questioned about my business practices or who I hire." The unspoken suggestion was – he would rather not continue this particular conversation.

Frank, however, had no intentions of letting it drop. "Understood, Mr. North and I apologize for my .. my forwardness. It's just that there have been two murders here and as you probably know, Nancy and I are helping the police in their investigation and interviews."

"Uh huh." North's expression indicated he thought this to be complete and total folly on the part of the police.

"Please, Mr. North, if you could just answer my questions."

North let out a long, tortured sigh. "I don't see how it has any bearing on the murders, but I'll satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Hardy. I approached Mr. Hill shortly after he was released from prison. Yes, I knew all about his past .. the thefts and minor fights he'd gotten into. I was looking for a man with such a background." He smiled at Frank. "I see I've surprised you. But here's the trick. I needed a man who knew about stealing, a man who'd actually stolen himself and had sold the items. Items that weren't easy to sell. Guns and ammo require a special clientele. Jeremy Hill, I reckoned, had connections with that type of clientele. In that regard, he was very useful to me. He was exactly what I was looking for."

North sipped his water and continued, "I have several companies up and down the eastern seaboard. For the most part, I trust the people I've put in charge of those companies. But I _never_ trust anyone completely." He peered at Frank from the corner of his eye. "I have been burned in the past. It's made me a micro-manager. I go over each and every company's books once, sometimes, twice a week."

Frank recalled Greta Swan lugging a briefcase to the dining room on more than one occasion. Mr. North did indeed check papers frequently before having dinner. If there was anything amiss at one of Mr. North's companies, Frank had no doubts Mr. North knew about it.

"And that," Mr. North said, "is how I spotted the discrepancy. This was four or five years ago. I'd hired a new man to take charge of one of my companies. The first year everything was fine, although I thought he wasn't quite as productive as he could be. Actually, that's what made me watch him harder, take a closer look. And then I saw it. Some things had gone missing or, as he put it when I called him, 'he couldn't account for them. Didn't know where they were.'"

North shifted in his chair and Frank felt ire and indignation roil through the old man.

"In my business, Mr. Hardy, everybody is accountable for everything at all times."

Frank nodded silently. He did not doubt Mr. North's words.

"So," North said, relaxing a little, "I hired Jeremy Hill. Put him to work at that company with the sole purpose of buddying up to the man in charge. He was to find out if the man was stealing and if so, who he was selling to. Jeremy Hill performed his job beautifully. He was a former thief and had legitimate connections to the black market. The man cozied right up to Hill and I soon had all the evidence I needed to charge the man with thief and embezzlement. Which I did. He's sitting in prison as we speak.

"So, there you have it. The whole story. Probably not as sinister as you imagined."

No, not nearly as sinister, Frank thought with a touch of a smile. "One last question, Mr. North. To your knowledge has Jeremy Hill ever been married?"

North snorted and gave a light chuckle. "Not that I've heard. Don't think marriage would work for him. He likes to play the field too much. Didn't he make a pass at your lady?"

"Yes, he did. Now, I have more information for you. After Jeremy attacked me with the knife, I decked him. He lost the knife in the scuffle and took off, headed for town. I called Detective Gosling and reported the attack. Gosling called me a short time ago. He said Jeremy had walked into oncoming traffic and was taken to the hospital. Gosling couldn't give me any details on Jeremy's injuries. He was on his way to the hospital to question Jeremy. I suspect Gosling will be contacting you soon."

Frank studied North's face. If North was upset by the news regarding Jeremy, he did not show it. Then Frank noticed Mr. North staring into the distance. Frank followed Mr. North's gaze and saw the rapidly approaching figure of Miss Greta Swan.

She hustled up the porch steps. Strands of brown hair had escaped her bun and fluttered around her face. "Mr. North, Miss Drew has just told me about Jeremy. He's in the hospital."

She was breathless and to Frank's mind, a bit overly dramatic.

North jerked his balding head toward Frank seated in the chair opposite him. "Mr. Hardy's just told me the same thing."

A phone chirped. It was Greta Swan's. She dug it out of her large handbag and peered at the caller ID.

"It's the police department." Her eyes were wide and searching. They seemed to ask Mr. North what she should do.

"Well, answer it," he grumbled and thought, silly woman.

Frank seized the moment. He stood and said, "I'll leave you now. Thanks, Mr. North for answering my questions. If Nancy or I can be of any help, please, let us know."

Mr. North grunted and Frank hurried down the porch steps.

As Frank ambled along the wooden path back to his bungalow, he pondered what he'd learned. Jeremy Hill was a confirmed thief. He'd gotten into fights. He'd never been married as far as Mr. North knew.

But one question still loomed; had he ever murdered someone?

Frank felt he knew the answer to that question.

* * *

 _A/N: As always, a warm-hearted 'thank you' to those who have left a review._


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Frank sat at the Resort's bar inside the dining room. He was waiting for Nancy. After his conversation with Mr. North Frank had exchanged text messages with Nancy. She was free. Apparently, Bridget did not need Nancy to stay with her.

Frank ordered two iced teas and waited. He was the only person at the bar. In fact, the entire dining room was empty. Dinner was several hours away. Thus, this was a good place to have a quiet conversation. Frank was anxious to share with Nancy what he'd learned from Mr. North.

The bartender placed two iced teas in front of Frank. "On your tab, Mr. Hardy?"

"Yes, please." Frank took a healthy chug of the refreshing liquid and watched the entrance, two large glass doors. He also scanned beyond the large windows. Lots of palm trees and beach to behold. Dots of sunshine sparkled on the water.

Ah, there she was, coppery blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. The spring in her walk caused a stirring in his heart and a sudden smile on his lips.

She waved to him as she came through the doors. He picked up the drinks and motioned with his head to a table by the windows. Might as well have a beach view while they discussed the case.

As soon as they were seated, Nancy said, "Heard from Gosling?"

"No, nothing yet." Frank was as disappointed as Nancy. "How's Bridget?"

Nancy took a quick sip of her tea. "Much better. I think she and Greta Swan had a very nice, heartfelt conversation. Bridget decided to call her mother." Nancy's expression was bright and cheerful. "Her mother's flying down tonight. She should be here around ten pm."

"Where's her mother live?"

"New York. Bridget said she's already booked a flight. When I left, Bridget was sorting through her things. She said she would go through Bruce's things when her mother gets here. I gathered she didn't want to do that alone. Bruce's death is still too fresh."

Frank nodded. "Understandable. Did you have a chance to ask her if she noticed anything missing?"

"I did and she did a quick check while I was there. All of her jewelry was still in her jewelry case and no credit cards were missing. However, it was a very quick check and, remember, she hasn't gone through Bruce's things yet. She promised to call me if she discovers anything missing."

"Good." Frank sipped his tea. "What was Greta Swan's reaction to all of this?"

Nancy smiled and wagged her eyebrows. "I dare say, she wasn't surprised at all by the news that Jeremy Hill was a thief. I got the distinct impression she knew that. However, and this is just my professional opinion, I think she was horrified to find he had gone through people's bungalows. That piece of news definitely took her by surprise."

"What about the attack on me? How'd she react to that?"

Nancy swung her head slowly back and forth. "That did not surprise her at all. She made a comment, very prim and proper like; 'not the first time, won't be the last time.'" Nancy perfectly mimicked Greta Swan's demeanor. "Kind of an odd thing to say, don't you think? Is Jeremy Hill known for getting in fights?"

Frank let out a soft snort. "Apparently, he is. Mr. North told me as much during our conversation. And yes, Mr. North was fully aware of Jeremy's background .. the stealing and fighting. According to North, that's why he hired Jeremy."

Nancy's dark blue eyes shone with interest. "Do tell."

Frank gladly recounted his conversation with Mr. North. As he came to the end Nancy lapsed into silence. She drummed her fingers on the table and stared mindlessly out the window. Frank knew she wasn't looking at the view. She was thinking, thinking hard about the case.

Frank, familiar with Nancy's quirks, knew not to interrupt. Didn't want to break her concentration. He sipped his tea and waited.

"You know," Nancy finally said, "I think we can cross Jeremy Hill off our suspect list."

"Really?" Frank was only mildly surprised by Nancy's statement. He had come to the same conclusion earlier. Of course, he wanted to hear Nancy's reasoning. Was it the same as his?

Nancy frowned and seemed to reconsider. "Let's at least put him on the back-burner."

This statement also surprised Frank. It wasn't like Nancy to doubt herself or her deductions.

"Okay," he said. "Care to share your thoughts with me?"

Nancy was frowning hard now. She stared at the table as she gathered her thoughts. "I think we need to go back to the beginning. The day all of this started. The day Mr. Graves was going to show me the picture." She lifted her head and locked eyes with Frank. "He saw someone that day. The murderer, I presume, and he shoved the picture back in his wallet without showing it to me."

"Who did he see?" Frank said. "That's the question. This whole case comes down to that one question."

Nancy cast her mind back to that fateful day. "Mr. Graves and I were sitting on that small patio. He was sitting across from me and just about to give me the picture when he went deadly silent. I noticed he was staring over my right shoulder. I heard voices behind me and turned. I saw you and Tim walking through the sand, coming toward Mr. Graves and me."

"I was bringing our drinks," Frank said. He remembered the day clearly.

"Right, and I was happy to see the drinks." Nancy smiled briefly. "I turned back to Mr. Graves and saw he was shoving the picture back in his wallet. I was initially a little upset by that. He hadn't shown me the picture. But then I realized he was frightened and, now, he was staring over my left shoulder. Gary, Lana, Bridget, and Bruce were exiting the Nature Trail just then. I turned and saw them. Mr. Graves would have seen them before I did."

"And those were our initial suspects," Frank said, "Gary, Bruce, and Tim."

"Don't forget Jeremy," Nancy reminded him. "Mr. North's bungalow is at the end of the Nature Trail. Mr. Graves could've seen Jeremy standing on the porch."

"True." Frank gave a quick nod.

"Sooo," Nancy let the word trail off, "can we honestly eliminate Jeremy Hill as a suspect?" Her fingers started drumming the table again.

"I think we can put him on the back-burner as you suggested," Frank said.

Nancy stopped drumming her fingers. "You do? Why?"

"As far as we know, he's never been married. We're looking for someone who's been married twice. No, three times."

Nancy sat up a bit straighter. "You're right."

Frank leaned forward, put his forearms on the table. "Let's look at this logically. Jeremy was in prison for two years four years ago. We know he wasn't murdering anyone during that time. When he was released he immediately started working for Mr. North and as far as Mr. North knows, Jeremy hasn't been married during his employment. I think, given the demands of working for Mr. North, Jeremy would find it difficult to marry anyone even if he had the inclination to, which I don't think he does. All in all, I think Mr. North keeps him busy."

Nancy drank some of her tea and smiled. "I have to agree with you there."

Frank glanced around the dining room. Still empty but that wouldn't last long. Guests wanting a before dinner drink would soon start arriving.

Frank turned back to Nancy. "Out of our original four suspects, one is dead and another – Jeremy – doesn't quite fit the pattern. Therefore, I suggest we focus our efforts on Tim and Gary from this point forward. What do you think?"

"I think you're absolutely right." A smile lit Nancy's face. "How should we proceed?"

Frank saw the excitement of the chase flicker in Nancy's eyes. This part of an investigation, the pursuit, was what she liked best. Frank found her excitement contagious.

But before he could answer her question, his cell phone rang. He tugged it off his belt holster and read the caller ID.

"It's Gosling," he told Nancy.

Perhaps, Gosling had information on Jeremy's condition. Although, Frank thought, that information didn't seem as important now. Not since he and Nancy had decided that Jeremy would be on the back-burner.

* * *

 _A/N: Well, look at me updating quickly. Hopefully, I can keep doing that. I wanted to thank folks for their reviews. I'm glad to hear that people like the characters in this story and that people found Frank's conversation with Mr. North interesting. (Mr. North is quite the character!) I was worried that that chapter might be considered boring even though it's an important chapter. You never know where clues to the real killer are hidden. No, I'm not giving any information away! However, I will say that we are getting closer to the end of the story. Cheers, until next time. :)_


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Nancy waited patiently while Frank held his phone to his ear and listened to Detective Gosling. The conversation was brief, no more than a minute or two.

"Well?" Nancy said when Frank put his phone away. "What did Gosling say?" Her patience was gone.

Frank smiled at her. He liked her undying curiosity and demand for information. He possessed the same traits and understood the desire to _have_ information. Information propelled an investigation, moved it forward. He did not withhold any information now. "Jeremy has a concussion, two broken ribs, and a punctuated lung. Gosling says it's a good thing witnesses called 9-1-1 immediately. Jeremy was having trouble breathing by the time the ambulance got him to the hospital. He was rushed him into the ER."

Nancy sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. She was a little more relaxed now that her curiosity had been sated. "Sounds like he'll live. Has Gosling had a chance to question him?"

Frank shook his head and drank some of his tea. The glass was almost empty. "Nope. Doctors had to sedate Jeremy so they could assess his lung wound. Gosling said the injury required minor surgery. The doctors told Gosling he'll have to wait to question Jeremy."

"For how long?"

Frank shrugged and placed his glass on the table. "Best case scenario, late this evening. Worst case scenario, early tomorrow morning."

"That's disappointing." Nancy voiced Frank's opinion as well as her own.

"It is what it is," Frank said. "We still have two suspects to deal with, Gary Simpson and Tim Kincaid."

Nancy unfolded her arms. "True, and before Gosling called, I believe you were going to tell me how we were going to tackle them."

Frank had his answer prepared and was proud of it. "A wise woman once told me, we should do things the old-fashioned way. We should talk to people."

Nancy laughed softly and rolled her eyes. He was using her own words against her. She had said something very similar to Frank only a day or two ago. My how time had flown. Was it only a day or two ago? It seemed much longer.

"Just like Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot in the Christie books," she said with a smile of acknowledgement.

"Just like that." Frank smiled and looked out the window. The smile fell from his face as he mulled over the facts of the case .. and the suspects. "You know," he said turning back to Nancy, "after the surfing incident we haven't spent much time with Gary and Lana."

"It is their honeymoon," Nancy said. "I'm sure they want to be alone, have time to get to know each other better."

Frank cocked his head. Interest showed in his eyes. "How long have they known each other?"

Nancy thought it over. Scraps of conversations with Lana drifted through her mind. "I believe she told me they dated for six months and they've only been married one month."

"That's a fast romance." Frank's expression said he felt this was a bit _too_ fast.

Nancy was noncommittal. "Maybe. I've known some short, fast romances that turned into long-lasting marriages."

"Yeah, me, too."

Nancy reached for her handbag and took out a pen and notebook. A notebook was as much a part of Nancy's handbag as a hairbrush and lip gloss. A notebook allowed her to jot down thoughts and to-do lists. Oh, she could have used her phone, but she preferred pen and paper. Being able to write the words forced her to think about the words. And thinking about them often stirred new thoughts. Those thoughts often lead her to view things in a new or different light.

At the moment, she felt a desperate need to get a handle on the case. She had not devoted her complete attention to it. In her defense, she was on vacation with the man she loved and he, too, deserved her attention. Then there had been Bruce's murder. That had necessitated Nancy spending time with Bridget. Luckily, Bridget's mother would arrive tonight. Nancy would not be concerned with Bridget's care anymore.

Nancy opened the notebook to the first page and wrote: 7 _years ago, photo put in newspaper_. She thought for a second and wrote: _second wife, Maria Lopez. Husband named John Highsmith_.

Nancy stared at the words and frowned. Something was wrong. Some small discrepancy she had missed or overlooked. She thought back to Mr. Graves and the story he had told her.

Frank sat quietly and watched. He had read what Nancy had written.

Nancy's frown deepened and she tapped her pencil on the table. "It doesn't fit," she mused more to herself than to Frank.

Frank leaned forward and reread what Nancy had written. Nothing unusual jumped out at him. He looked up at Nancy. "What doesn't fit?"

"The _story_ Mr. Graves told me doesn't fit with what Detectives Gosling and Ellis told me."

Frank was confused. He wasn't even sure what Nancy was talking about. "I'm not following. You're going to have to be more specific."

"Oh. Sorry. My thoughts got ahead of my words." She directed Frank's attention to the notebook. "The newspaper photo Gosling gave me was taken seven years ago. The publication date was right above the photo. I remember mentioning it – the date – to both Gosling and Ellis. I was surprised by the date. It seemed a tad too long ago. You see, when Mr. Graves told me his story I got the impression the newspaper article and photo had happened more recently. More like four years ago. Five at the absolute most."

"He could've been mistaken about the years," Frank said. "He was old and he drank a lot. Either of those could've affected his memory."

"I thought of that, but there's more. The stories are wrong .. or more precisely .. they're switched." Nancy blew out an exasperated breath. She wasn't explaining herself very well. So like Miss Marple in the Christie novels, Nancy thought with a wry smile.

"You see," she continued, "Mr. Graves said the photo in the newspaper was taken after the husband had saved his wife. His _second_ wife. That's important. It was the _second_ wife who almost drown in the ocean. The first wife – according to Graves – overdosed on sleeping pills and then hung herself months later."

Frank nodded that he understood.

"All of that brings me to Gosling and Ellis and what they told me," Nancy said. "They identified the man in the photo as John Highsmith. The woman was Maria Lopez, a recent immigrant to the U.S. But here's the part that has me puzzled. Gosling said he found the hospital where Mr. Highsmith had taken his wife after she ODed on pain meds. I should have caught that mistake at the time and questioned Gosling about it. It's all wrong. It was the first wife who overdosed on pills, not the second one. And according to Gosling Maria Highsmith later hung herself. That also fits with Mr. Graves' version of the _first_ wife's story."

Frank's brow knotted and his eyes narrowed. "Wait. Are you saying the newspaper photo we have relates to the first murder and not the second?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Nancy was pleased Frank had been able to follow her somewhat twisty narrative. "But what I don't understand is why there's a photo – a newspaper photo – of Mr. Highsmith and his first wife. Why are they in the newspaper? Had he done something heroic to save her?"

"Alleged first wife," Frank said. "There could be others we don't know about."

Nancy's jaw dropped slightly. "You're right, there could be others. I hadn't thought of that. I sincerely hope not." She swallowed hard and tapped her notebook with her pen. She was determined to catch this killer. "Back to the photo. We need the article that goes with it. It'll explain why Mr. and Mrs. Highsmith were in the newspaper. It's the only way I .. we can make sense of this case."

"Agreed. First, let me see if I remember this correctly. Gosling told you that Maria Highsmith had fallen off a ladder and hurt her ankle?"

"Yes. She was painting the house when the accident happened. The doctors gave her powerful meds for the pain."

Frank rubbed his chin and frowned. "A little too convenient. The meds and overdosing on them."

"I just remembered something else Gosling said." Nancy's eyes were bright and intense. "He said he suspected Maria was Mr. Highsmith's _first_ victim."

"That word 'first' again."

"Yes." A slight shiver brought goosebumps to Nancy's arms. "Gosling said he suspected Highsmith had tried to murder his wife on several occasions, but botched the attempts. I believe Gosling's exact words were, 'He was learning as he went.'" Another shiver crawled up Nancy's spine at the memory.

She reminded Frank of the various murder attempts. "Gosling suspected – and I agree – that Highsmith pushed the ladder Maria was on when she was painting their house. He caused her fall in the hopes of killing her. When that didn't succeed, he slipped her extra pain meds. That didn't work either and he decided to hang her and made it look like a suicide."

"He probably used the pain meds for that, too, to knock her out." A bit of a snarl hitched the corner of Frank's mouth.

Nancy cringed in horror. "You're probably right. How awful. I wonder if she ever suspected her husband was trying to kill her?"

Frank shook his head sadly. "We'll never know. But this seems to explain why the photo didn't help us identify the killer. We had the wrong photo." Frank was a bit aghast at this idea. "Like you said, Nan, we need to get the article that goes with the picture. There may be other clues in it, something that might break this case open. I'll call Gosling right now and ask for a copy of the article. I wouldn't mind having the whole newspaper actually."

Nancy laid a hand on Frank's. "Can you also ask him to start a search for the second photo? The one about a husband rescuing his wife from drowning in the ocean. That's the one Mr. Graves was going to show me. That's the one we need."

"Will do." Frank grinned and tugged his phone out of his shorts' pocket.

Nancy finished her tea while Frank called Gosling. She only half-listened to their conversation. Her thoughts were going in a thousand directions.

When Frank hang up he smiled at Nancy and said, "Gosling says he can have the article ready for us in twenty minutes. You up for a taxi ride to the police station?"

"You bet." Nancy rose and flung her handbag over her shoulder. An exuberant smile lit her face. This was a big step forward in the case. They were on the right track. She could feel it. She took Frank's hand in hers as they left the dining room.

"I hope Gosling can find the second photo. It may be what solves this case," she said.

"It might. Gosling said he'd get the tech guys searching for it immediately."

Nancy noted the caution in Frank's voice. He was smart to be cautious. The second newspaper photo might not help them at all. It might be as grainy as the first.

Still, Nancy was happy. They'd made forward movement on the case. There for a while, she had felt the case was idling, stuck in the mud and not going anywhere. She told herself the case hadn't gone cold and that was important. Also, the killer was still here .. at the resort. He was a guest. Nancy felt a momentary hesitation at that thought and quickly shook it off. She promised herself she would find the killer and bring him to justice.

Just one question. _Who was he?_


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was late afternoon when Nancy and Frank left the police station. There was a distinct lightness to their mood. They had reason to be hopeful. Frank held the newspaper article in his hand. The newspaper article about the first wife, the one who had fallen off the ladder.

And Nancy had something in her handbag. The photo – and article – of the second wife and husband.

It had taken Nancy's help to locate the photo and article. She and the police tech in charge of the search had sat at his computer for close to two hours scouring news reports from nearby towns and cities. Nancy had insisted on starting five years ago and working forward in time. That was the key, she'd told the tech. Anything older than five years wouldn't fit Mr. Graves' story.

The police tech had cast a doubtful glance at Nancy. She wasn't part of the police department, she was merely a lowly private investigator. But Gosling's orders had been to follow Nancy's advice and the police tech did.

Nancy was soon proven correct. The tech found an article and photo in a newspaper dated four years ago. Nancy wrote the name of the town in her notepad and asked the tech if he'd heard of the place.

"Sure," he'd said, "it's about two hundred miles inland from here."

An idea had suddenly occurred to Nancy. It had hit her with the physical sensation of an electric shock. It was an idea she hadn't considered before and gave voice to, "If people in that town wanted a seaside vacation where would they go?"

A slow smile had spread across the tech's face as he'd turned his head toward Nancy. "Here," he'd said. "Probably at the _Palms Resort_. The resort was here back then. Just owned by different people."

 _Just owned by different people_.

Was it possible, Nancy had wondered, had the killer come back to the same resort to kill again? He certainly would not have had to worry about being recognized. The _Palms_ was under new management now.

Nancy found this an intriguing theory. Killers, she knew, tended to use the same method of killing. Was it possible this killer preferred killing in the same place? Was there, perhaps, something more, some symbolism. He wanted to kill two newly wed wives at the same location.

"The _Palms_ is a nice place," the tech was saying. "Has a good reputation. I hear it can be hard to get a bungalow in the summer months. You know, June through August. But you guys being here in May is good. You don't have to fight the crowds."

Nancy had smiled at the tech. He was young, charming, and eager to please. "Yes, Frank and I are very happy with the _Palms._ It's a lovely place. Right on the beach. We've talked about coming back one day. Um, without a murder, er, murders to solve."

The tech had chuckled at that. "Yeah, these murders have probably put a damper on your vacation."

Nancy had pursed her lips and nodded demurely. "A bit, but I think we're closing in on the killer. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a printout of this article and photo."

"Yes, ma'am."

# # # #

Nancy and Frank stood outside the police station and pondered their next move.

Frank squinted in the harsh afternoon sun. "I have a suggestion," he said.

Nancy put on her sunglasses. "I'm all ears."

"How 'bout we try out that Mexican restaurant, the one Bridget and Bruce recommended. We can go over these newspaper articles there. Personally, I'd prefer to discuss the case somewhere other than in the _Palms_ _Resort_ dining room."

Nancy's lips parted in an enchanting smile. "I agree and I wouldn't mind having a margarita. Didn't Bridget say they were delicious?"

Frank gave a short laugh. "She did and I wouldn't mind having one myself."

Nancy moved closer to Frank. He bent and kissed her lightly, chastely, on the lips. They were outside the police station and he didn't want to create a scene. Not that Frank Hardy would ever create a scene. In reality, it was that he held a reverence for police stations and the police in general. He, himself, had been in law enforcement work of some type for most of his life.

"The restaurant's not far from here," he said. "We can walk to it."

"Fine by me," Nancy said and hooked an arm through one of Frank's.

They headed off at a brisk pace. Nancy had the impression that Frank had planned this. He must have looked up the restaurant's location while she was working with the police tech. She liked that about Frank. He was always planning ahead.

Fifteen minutes later Nancy and Frank were seated in a corner booth of the restaurant. It was quaint and authentic. Hand-woven blankets and other Mexican curios decorated the walls. Nancy liked the place immediately. The atmosphere was inviting and warm, the wait staff welcoming and friendly.

Chips and salsa were promptly deposited on Nancy's and Frank's table. The Hispanic waitress took their drink order – two margaritas – and departed.

Nancy dipped a chip in the salsa the waitress had identified as 'mild' and took a bite. "Mmmm."

"Good?" Frank asked as he reached for a chip.

"Very fresh. I'd say it's homemade."

Frank dipped his chip in the hot salsa and took a bite. Nancy saw his eyes light up.

"Hot?" she asked.

"Hot but good. Very good." Frank liked foods with a little more zip and heat than Nancy did.

"It's all yours then," she said.

"You don't even want to try a little? One teeny, tiny taste?" Frank joked.

"Nope, it's all yours. And don't blame me later if you get heartburn."

"Heartburn? When have I ever gotten heartburn?"

Nancy cocked her head and thought. After a second, she angled her head and gazed into Frank's dark eyes. "Never. You must have a cast-iron stomach."

"It came in handy in the Army."

Nancy's perfectly arched eyebrows rose slightly as she dipped another chip in the mild salsa. "I'll have to take your word on that."

Nancy knew that Frank had spent five years in the Army. Three of those years had been in the Army's Criminal Investigation Division. That division dealt with the big crimes. Murders and drugs. Weapons trafficking, suspected terrorist activities, etc. Frank had been a Special Agent. That's what the Army called them. Nancy liked the sound of that. Special Agent Hardy.

He'd seen more crime and corruption than she had in her short stint as a Chicago Police detective. Strange, or perhaps, interestingly, they'd both walked away from those jobs and returned to the private sector, to private detective work. She supposed being detectives was in their blood, hers and Frank's. They'd both started out as teenage detectives working small cases in their hometowns. She in River Heights, Illinois and he and his brother in Bayport, New York.

They'd learned the detective trade while on the job. Literally, through trial and error. They'd grown smarter, more resourceful, and ever more confident and competent through the years. All those past cases and past experiences had honed her skills and Frank's. They were sharper and more accurate in their assessments of situations and people. Experience did that to a person.

Their drinks arrived and she indulged in the taste of her margarita. Savored the sour components mingled with the salt. Relished the sweet tang of the lime juice. This was a moment of total relaxation, but also a moment to reflect. She thought about the case. Her mind wandered and drifted. She let it go wherever it wanted to go.

Then she felt the heat of Frank's gaze. Up went her chin and she met his ardent stare. The way he looked at her .. it .. it made her heart beat faster. At times, it stole her breath.

He was sipping his margarita. His eyes never left her face. "Should I ask what's on your mind?"

She shook her head and murmured, "No." She thought he would be disappointed if he heard she was thinking about the case. She opened her menu and deflected the conversation. "I'm hungry. Are you?"

"I can always eat," he said mildly.

Well, that was certainly true. She'd never known Frank, or his brother Joe, to turn down food. But in that moment she made a decision. This early dinner would be about her and Frank. They were a couple. They deserved some quiet time alone. Some quality time to enjoy themselves and each other. And that time was now.

Nancy got up and went to the other side of the table. She slid onto the booth bench and sat next to Frank. Her shoulder rubbed against his and subtle sparks flew.

Frank's dark brow rose in question.

Nancy slipped an arm through his and with honesty and purity of feeling, said, "I wanted to be near you."

Frank was looking at her again … in that way … and her heart fluttered.

"Promise me you'll stay on this side of the table," he said.

A slow smile curled the corners of her lips. "You're stuck with me, Frank. I'm not leaving your side. I'm going to enjoy you, your company, this restaurant, and this moment in time …" She noticed her comments were becoming a bit mushy, a bit overly sentimental, and added, "and this margarita."

Frank kissed her on the cheek and lifted his margarita. "To us."

"To us." Nancy lightly touched her salt rimmed glass to Frank's.

To us, she thought as she sipped her drink and gazed into the eyes of the man she loved. Yes, she loved him. There was no doubt about that.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you very much to those who have left a review. You're all too kind!_


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was after six p.m. when a cab dropped Nancy and Frank at the _Palms Resort_. Nancy stepped out of the cab feeling a little tipsy. Two margaritas would do that to a person.

Nancy remembered the night Bruce and Bridget had come stumbling into the _Palms Resort_ dining room. To put it bluntly, Bridget had been drunk that night. But then, she'd had four margaritas. Nancy couldn't imagine drinking four. Two had made Nancy unsteady on her feet. Not that she regretted it. She was feeling no pain and felt a sort of benevolent generosity toward the world and mankind in general.

Frank paid the cab driver then turned and took Nancy by the elbow. He gently guided her to the wooden path that threaded its way past all the _Resort's_ bungalows.

Nancy snuggled close to Frank and rested her head on his shoulder. We had worked, Nancy reminded herself as she and Frank strolled along the wooden path.

After dinner and over those second margaritas, she and Frank had read through the newspaper articles and had discovered something significant. Nothing earth shattering, but something worthy of note.

The first article had proclaimed John Highsmith to be a hero.

 _Today a local man is being hailed as a hero,_ the article said. _Mr. John Highsmith came home last Monday and found his wife unconscious and unresponsive._ _Mr. John Highsmith attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on wife for approximately 10 minutes. When he realized his efforts were not working, Mr. Highsmith called for an ambulance._

 _Mrs. Maria Highsmith was taken to the hospital and immediately admitted to the ER. Doctors later told reporters that Mrs. Highsmith had accidently taken an overdose of pain medication. Apparently, Mrs. Highsmith had recently fallen off a ladder and sprained her left ankle. She was taking powerful pain medicines. Doctors declined to name the exact medications._

 _Doctors stabilized Mrs. Highsmith and pumped her stomach. She is said to be resting comfortably and recovering from her ordeal. She is expected to make a full recovery and will soon be released from the hospital._

 _Doctor Villa spoke to reporters this morning and said that Mr. Highsmith's actions had saved his wife's life._

 _According to Doctor Villa, if Mr. Highsmith had not come home when he did and had not performed CPR, it is highly likely Mrs. Highsmith would be dead._

" _Mr. Highsmith's quick actions bought her time," Doctor Villa is quoted as saying. "The fact Mr. Highsmith called for an ambulance, and it arrived so quickly, also played a part in saving his wife's life."_

Oh yes, Nancy thought as she and Frank neared Bridget's bungalow, Mr. Highsmith had been a hero. Something she thought he liked – being a hero. Sadly, less than six months later, Maria Highsmith was dead.

Bridget, Greta Swan, and Mr. North sat on the porch of Bridget's bungalow.

Frank waved to them and called out, "Good evening, folks."

Greta and Bridget returned the greeting, "Good evening."

Mr. North said nothing. He sat in a rattan chair looking out-of-sorts and grumpy. In other words, his usual mood.

Greta and Bridget were cheerful.

"Any word on Jeremy?" Frank asked.

"He's fine," Greta Swan said. "He should be released from the hospital tomorrow. He had a collapsed lung."

Frank, of course, knew that. He and Nancy stood on the path and faced the group.

"He'll have to take it easy for several weeks," Frank said. "If there's anything you need let Nancy and me know. We'd be glad to lean a hand." Frank's comments were directed more towards Greta and Mr. North.

It was Greta who answered, "Thank you so much for the offer, Mr. Hardy. Either myself or Mr. North will certainly let you know if we need assistance. We might, you know. I expect Mr. Hill will have to take it easy for several weeks."

"I expect he will," Frank said. He had no firsthand knowledge of collapsed lungs nor how long they took to heal.

Bridget called out, "Are you two going to dinner later?"

"No," Frank said, "we had dinner in town." He'd almost said, _at the Mexican restaurant you and Bruce recommended_ , but thought the memory might be too painful for Bridget.

Bridget looked momentarily disappointed at the fact Nancy and Frank would not be her table mates, but she quickly recovered. "Greta and Mr. North have kindly asked me to dine with them and I accepted." Bridget smiled at her guests then turned back to Nancy and Frank. "I have to pick my mom up at the airport at ten tonight."

"Would you like someone to tag along?" Nancy asked.

Bridget shook her head. "No, thanks. Greta has already offered to go with me."

Bridget looked over at Greta and Greta beamed. Nancy smiled at the two women and thought, _Greta is enjoying the companionship of a woman close to her age. Good for her. She needs to get away from Mr. North occasionally._

Mr. North, however, did not appear quite so pleased with this new development. He was accustomed to having Greta Swan all to himself and at his beck and call. He'll get over, Nancy surmised. Bridget and her mother would leave in a few days and life for Mr. North would return to normal.

"Well, if there's anything you need," Frank said, "you all have my phone number and Nancy's."

"We'll call if we need you," Bridget promised and she and Greta waved good-bye.

Mr. North sat stoically, looking evermore grumpy.

Nancy and Frank waved back and headed along the path. Life for them would soon return to normal, too. Soon, they would fly back to River Heights, Illinois and to their detective agency.

It would be sad to leave this place, Nancy thought as she glanced around. It was truly lovely here. A true paradise. The sand, the beach, palm trees and flowering shrubs. Nancy particularly liked the flowering shrubs. Their delicate scent was pleasant and soothing. Each morning she looked forward to that wonderful scent greeting her. Lucky for her those particular shrubs were abundant around the resort.

She and Frank came up alongside of Gary and Lana's bungalow.

"They're lucky," Nancy said to Frank.

"Why?"

Nancy stopped and pointed. "They have those beautiful flowering shrubs all along their porch railing."

Frank knew how much Nancy admired the flowery shrubs. She had mentioned it on more than one occasion. "So they do. If we ever come here again I'll be sure to request a bungalow with flowering shrubs."

Nancy smiled up at him. "I would like that."

The door to the bungalow opened and Gary stepped out. He walked over to the railing and peered at the ocean. Then he noticed Nancy and Frank standing on the wooden path.

"Oh, hi. Heading to dinner?"

"No," Frank said, "we ate in town. We're headed to our bungalow. We might stop in later at the dining room."

"Oh," Gary said, "well, Lana and I probably won't stay late. There's no band tonight."

Frank pulled a face. "That's a disappointment. Well, if we don't see you later, have a nice evening."

"Same to you," Gary said and turned at the sound of Lana shutting the bungalow door.

Lana was lovely in a calf-length flowing summer dress. She walked over to Gary and he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek.

Such a sweet picture, Nancy thought as she and Frank waved to the couple and continued on.

Frank took Nancy's hand and nudged her in the shoulder. "Now, what are you thinking about?"

Nancy tilted her head up and frowned at him. "Who says I'm thinking about anything?"

Frank gave a short bark of laughter. "You, Miss Nancy Drew, _are_ always thinking. Well, except maybe when you're sleeping. Did I ever tell you, you sleep like a log?"

Nancy rolled her eyes and shook her head. She didn't mind Frank kidding her. Actually, she liked it. Once upon a time, it had been Frank and Joe kidding each other – rather often – at the office. Now it was Frank, and even Joe, who got in the occasional ribbing of Nancy. To her, it meant she was officially accepted as a member of the Hardy brothers' team. She smiled at the thought. That was exactly what she wanted to be – a full-fledged member of the team.

"To answer your question," she said, "I was thinking what a pretty picture Gary and Lana made on their porch. Standing there with the setting sun in the background, beautiful, flowery shrubs surrounding them, the quaint bungalow providing the perfect backdrop."

A perplexed frown furrowed Frank's brow. Nancy's answer was not what he'd expected. It was rather romantic and he was unsure as to how to respond. "Umm, yeah, that's quite a picture."

They approached their bungalow and climbed the stairs to the porch. This small abode had become 'home' and they were glad to be back.

Frank slid his key into the door. Over his shoulder, he said, "I'd like to read through those newspaper articles again and look at the pictures with the magnifying glass we bought. What about you?"

Nancy nodded. "I was thinking of doing the same things. First though, I'm going to make some tea. Would you like a cup?" She needed the tea, needed to clear her mind and dim the effects of the margaritas.

Frank held the door open. "Yeah, sounds good."

# # # #

Nancy and Frank sat at the dinette set in the kitchenette area. Frank had the magnifying glass out and was looking at the newspaper photos.

Nancy sipped her tea and reread the second article. It, too, had praised the husband. Called him a hero just as the first article had. The second husband wasn't named John Highsmith. Of course not, the killer had changed his name. To the outside world this was a different man in a different town. Nancy felt it important to note that the second town was a mere 185 miles from the first town. Not a great distant, but enough distant to allow a man (a killer) to start anew. The money from the insurance policy would have supported him for a while. At least until he could acquire a new wife and plot her demise.

And it had not taken the killer long to find that new wife. Nancy noted the dates of the two articles. Only three years separated them.

Nancy read the second article yet again.

 _Local officials are calling Daniel Jones a hero. Daniel Jones and his wife, Amanda, were recently on their honeymoon when disaster struck. The young couple was spending a week on the coast at a popular resort. According to Mr. Daniel Jones, who gave local officials an account of what happened, the newlyweds had decided on a late afternoon swim in the ocean._

 _Mr. Jones said all was well until the couple reached deeper water. That was when Jones realized his wife was far behind him and struggling. He immediately turned back and swam to her rescue. He said she went under several times before he got to her and she was nearly unconscious by the time he reached her._

 _Mr. Jones got his wife to shore and fortunately for him, a crowd of onlookers had gathered on the beach. One spectator had the foresight to call 9-1-1. An ambulance arrived shortly. Mrs. Jones spent a night in the hospital for observation and was released early the next day. She credits her husband with saving her life._

"Hmm," Nancy mused. "One day he saves it and another he takes it."

 _The couple is pictured in front of their home. Mr. Jones told reporters that he and his wife were happy to be home and despite the one bad day, they had enjoyed their seaside honeymoon._

Nancy leaned back in her chair and took another sip of tea. She wondered if the couple had come to this resort. There were only two resorts in this relatively small seaside town.

Frank laid the photo and magnifying glass down and looked across the table at Nancy. "This photo is better than the other one, but I still can't identify the man in the picture. The best I can say is, there's something familiar about him."

Nancy pulled the photo closer and picked up the magnifying glass. She studied the photo while Frank drank his tea.

Yes, she thought, there was something familiar about the man. Was it the way he stood? He had an arm around his wife's waist. Both husband and wife smiled happily for the picture. Something tugged at the edge of Nancy's mind …

The buzzing of Frank's cell phone broke Nancy's concentration.

Frank looked at the caller ID and said, "It's Tim Kincaid. Wonder what he wants?" Frank answered the phone. "Hello. Tim, what's going on?"

Nancy watched as Frank's expression turned to one of concern.

"Sure. Of course. I'll tell her now. I'm sure she won't mind. Have you thought about calling a doctor? Oh, okay. Well, if you're sure. I'll send her now. Bye." Frank laid down his phone and looked at Nancy. "Tim's worried about Molly. He says she's been in bed all afternoon and he can't get her up. He'd like you to check on her."

"I heard you ask about calling a doctor, what did he say to that?"

"Kinda odd," Frank said. "He said he didn't want to call a doctor if it's nothing." Frank shrugged, clearly puzzled by Tim's strange response. "Seems like a lame excuse to me. If your wife's sick, you should call a doctor. I think it's best if you get over there and check on Molly."

Nancy was on her feet and reaching for her handbag. "I'm on my way. You know, Molly was very tired earlier today when she and I were at Bridget's. I was worried about her then. I hope .."

Frank stood and placed a reassuring hand on Nancy's shoulder. His voice was steady and calm, "Just get to her. Let me know what you think. I'm going to the dining room. It's almost dinner time. Tim said he doesn't need my help, but he might change his mind. If nothing else, I can gauge his mood."

"Sounds good. I'll call you as soon as I can."

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks a bunch for the reviews! It's always nice to receive those and see (hear) what people are thinking. You folks keep me on my toes as far as making sure things make sense. We're, oops, N/F are getting closer to catching the killer .. that's all I'm going to say._


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Nancy dashed through the sand and made a beeline for Tim and Molly's bungalow. Their bungalow was nestled amid palm and mangrove trees and surrounded by those flowering shrubs Nancy liked so well. The bungalow was set a short distance from the main resort building and thus gave it some privacy.

Nancy saw Tim standing on the porch, gripping the porch railing. He looked anxious, but brightened when he spotted Nancy. Nancy felt a mental nudge as she approached the bungalow. There was something familiar here … Something about Tim … Something about standing on the porch …

She shook the thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand as she sprinted up the porch stairs. "How's Molly? Any change?"

Tim shook his head woefully. "No. Come. I'll show you."

He led Nancy into the bungalow and down the hall to the master bedroom. Nancy noted that this bungalow was much larger than the others. It was a real home with cozy furnishings and personal touches. The living room even boasted a stone fireplace.

Tim guided Nancy to the bedroom. Nancy entered the room and saw Molly lying on the bed, partially covered with a blanket. Nancy was momentarily awed by the sight before her. Molly lay serene and peaceful upon the bed. She looked, for all the world, like Sleeping Beauty awaiting her prince and true love's kiss. The only kiss that could break the spell and bring her out of her deep sleep.

Tim's harsh tone shattered the moment. "I've tried to wake her, but she's dead to the world." Tim took in Nancy's shocked expression and amended his statement. "Sorry, poor choice of words especially given everything what's happened around here. The … the murders."

Nancy went to Molly's side, took her wrist, and felt for a pulse.

Tim stood by helplessly and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. "Good God, what am I going to do?"

Nancy found a solid, healthy pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. "Molly's fine," she told Tim. "But to be on the safe side we could call a doctor."

"No!"

Nancy flinched at the sudden outburst.

Tim launched into a flurry of rapid-fire sentences, a long stream of facts that he hoped explained his actions. "What I mean is, we don't know one. We haven't lived here that long. Less than a year. Neither of us has been sick. We haven't needed a doctor." He paced the room as he spoke and gestured wildly.

He's nervous as a cat, Nancy thought. He might implode at any minute. She needed to calm him down.

"Tim, why don't you head to the dining room? Frank's there. He can lend a hand with the dinner service. I'll stay with Molly. I promise, I won't leave her side."

Tim stared at Nancy as though he hadn't understood a word of what she said. Leave? How could he leave?

"I'll call you the minute she wakes," Nancy said. "Listen, I don't think she's in any danger. She has a good, steady pulse. Of course, a doctor .."

"No! No doctor! We .. we can't afford it. We're barely getting by as it is. There are so many bills. So many employees to pay .." A pleading quality had crept into Tim's voice.

"Yes, I understand all of that. Starting a business and keeping it afloat is hard, stressful work." Nancy motioned Tim into the hallway and lowered her voice. "You need to relax, Tim. Not only for your sake, but for Molly's. Getting all worked up like this isn't good for your wife. She may be overwrought by all the stress of the past few days. You've both had a lot to deal with. Molly's extreme fatigue may be her body's way of coping with the stress."

You would need a real doctor to confirm that diagnosis, Nancy wanted to say, but wisely kept silent.

Tim slumped against the hallway wall and ran his hands down the sides of his face. "Of course, why didn't I think of that? It makes perfect sense. I .. I should've realized that."

"Stress," Nancy reminded him. "You and Molly have been under tremendous stress. I think the best thing for you to do right now is to go to the dining room. See to your guests. Take care of your business. I'll care for Molly while you're gone."

Tim nodded in short, jerky movements. "Yes, yes, you're right. The business. I can't let it fail. And you'll watch over Molly?"

"Of course I will." Nancy smiled for the first time since arriving. "You have nothing to worry about. Molly is in good hands. I've dealt with situations like this before."

That statement seemed to revive Tim. He perked up a bit and his emotions stabilized.

He pushed off of the wall, decidedly sturdier and more sure of himself. "Okay then. Um, I'll just rinse my face and leave. And thank you, Nancy. Thank you for everything." The tiniest of smiles broke the corners of his mouth before he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Five minutes later, he was gone and a pleasant calm settled over the bungalow. It was a remarkable change in the atmosphere. There had been a remarkable change in Tim's attitude, too.

Nancy stepped to the window and furtively watched Tim walk along the paved path that connected his bungalow to the main resort building. Nancy expected Tim to glance back and was surprised when he didn't. She expected him to have a moment's hesitation, a smidgen of doubt, or second thoughts at leaving his sick wife. Wouldn't it be natural and normal for a husband to have lingering concerns about his wife and to glance back at his bungalow?

Not Tim Kincaid. He never once glanced back. Instead, he hurried to the main building as though he couldn't get there fast enough.

Nancy's gaze wandered back to the porch. It was wider than the other bungalows' porches. A table and rattan chairs were off to the side. They did not appear to have been used much and Nancy could imagine why. This bungalow, nestled among palm and mangrove trees, was in perpetual darkness, the porch forever shrouded in shadows. The sun never fully shone here and that lent a haunted house vibe to the bungalow. It was thoroughly dark and creepy.

A chill trickled down Nancy's spine and goosebumps formed on her arms. She hugged herself tightly and brushed aside the odd, foreboding feeling.

Concentrate on something pleasant, she told herself and her gaze landed on the flowering shrubs bordering the porch. Those always brought happy thoughts.

Nancy smiled and then gasped. A hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my!"

 _The shrubs. The porch. The newspaper photo_.

That's why it had seemed familiar. She had seen it before … Or something very similar to it.

Her mind wheeled and spun. New ideas took shape and grew. Puzzle pieces fell into place. And in one startling moment she saw it, saw it quite clearly.

 _I've traced the man here, to this resort. I'm only telling you this because you're a fellow PI. I think he might know I'm onto him. I think he saw me watching him the other day._

"You knew, didn't you, Mr. Graves," Nancy whispered. "You knew the killer was here and the photo confirmed it."

 _The photo_.

Nancy sucked in a ragged breath. But it wasn't enough. The photo alone would never convict the killer. It was too grainy. What she needed was evidence. Something tangible. Something the police could handle and subject to tests. Something irrefutable.

Had Mr. Graves been looking for evidence?

It was certainly a possibility.

Nancy tapped her chin with an index finger. Evidence. Hard, solid evidence. That's what she needed. Yes, and she knew exactly what the defining piece of evidence would be.

Now, the big questions were … Was the evidence still here at the resort and could she find it?

She had to try. A woman's life depended on it.

First though, she had to check on Molly. Dear, sweet Molly …

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. You folks are really quite nice to leave me such thoughtful comments. I liked what the Guest reviewer said about N &F traveling around to different places and solving crimes. That would be fun, but I have no plans to write such stories. I'm thinking of a Joe/Vanessa story for next time, but we'll see. Nothing's in the works at the moment. Just trying to finish this story. :)_


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Nancy stepped into the master bedroom. Weak sunshine spilled through the window.

Molly opened her eyes and blinked. She looked around the room and then at Nancy who stood beside the bed. Molly's eyes widened. Whether in fear or curiosity, Nancy could not say.

"Is he .. is he gone?" Molly asked.

There was a slight tremor in Molly's voice and Nancy wondered again, was it _fear_ or _curiosity_ that had provoked Molly's question.

Nancy sat on the edge of the bed and spoke softly, "If you mean, Tim, yes, he's gone. He went to the resort dining room. It's almost dinner time."

Molly glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "Oh, so it is." She looked up at Nancy. "I slept a long time."

It was a noncommittal, unemotional response and one that frustrated Nancy.

"How do you feel, Molly? Are you hungry?"

Molly mulled it over. How did she feel? It was a good question. Her eyes shifted left and right as she assessed her condition. At last, she said, "I .. I feel a little sick to my stomach."

"Well, you are a little pale," Nancy said soothingly. "How about something warm to drink. Some weak tea?"

Molly considered for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, that sounds good and some toast? If it's not too much trouble."

Nancy patted Molly's hand. "No trouble at all. That's why I'm here. Tim didn't want to leave you alone. He's worried about you."

Molly swallowed hard. It seemed she needed to digest this information. Had to take it in and examine it, had to determine if she believed it. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry I worried him .. _and_ you. You're on vacation, Nancy, you shouldn't be here watching over me."

There was genuine sincerity in Molly's voice. Nancy knew that Molly was not a person who hid her emotions. Not at all. Molly was open, kind, and truly sorry for imposing upon her guests.

"I'm happy to be here," Nancy said with a comforting smile. "I know we haven't known each other long, but in that short time I think I've gotten to know you, Molly. I consider you a friend and in case you haven't guessed, I take care of my friends." Nancy stood and smoothed down her blouse. "Now, I'm going to make us a pot of tea and a plate of toast."

Molly threw off the fuzzy blanket and slid her legs over the edge of the bed. "Thank you, Nancy. I consider you a friend, too. I don't know what I would've done if you and Frank hadn't been here. I .. what with everything that's happened. I don't think Tim and I would have coped as well without yours and Frank's advice. You've both been so helpful."

Molly's internal turmoil and the immense pressure she'd been under since Mr. Graves' murder was evident to Nancy. Molly had endured police questioning and their ongoing investigation. It wasn't easy running a resort under those circumstances.

Molly pulled herself together and said, "You're a good friend, Nancy, and you're right, it'll be good for me to eat something. It might settle my stomach." She pressed a hand to her stomach in a protective gesture and pushed herself off the bed. "I'll just freshened up and then meet you in the kitchen. Oh, the tea is in the upper right cabinet and the .."

Nancy waved aside Molly's directions. "Don't worry. I'll find everything."

# # # #

Molly washed her face, combed her hair, and put on fresh clothes. The clothes she had worn were wrinkled and sweaty. She'd slept in them for hours. How many hours she could not say.

Fifteen minutes later, she entered the kitchen. The smell of toast wafted up and her stomach grumbled. The first pangs of hunger. Molly took them as a 'good sign.'

A pretty, porcelain pot filled with piping hot tea sat on the table. Cups, saucers, and spoons were there, too. It all looked inviting. A setting fit for a princess or princesses.

Nancy lifted a butter knife in greeting. "Just buttering the toast. Have a seat. I'm almost finished."

"Thank you again, Nancy." Molly eased onto a chair and poured out two cups of tea. "I'm glad you made the toast. I actually feel a little hungry."

Nancy carried a plate of buttered toast to the table. "I thought you might. Would you like jam or cheese with the toast?"

Molly rubbed her rumbling stomach as if to placate it, bit her bottom lip and looked up at Nancy. "Maybe a little cheese."

Nancy went to the refrigerator and got the cheese. Molly looked markedly better, she thought. There was color on Molly's cheeks and a lightness in her mood.

Nancy quickly cut the block of cheese into small cubes, placed them on a plate, and brought it to the table. "There, we're all set," she said and took a seat.

The women sipped their tea and nibbled on the toast and cheese. Nancy wasn't particularly hungry, but she wanted to encourage Molly to eat.

"You look like you're feeling better," Nancy ventured after Molly had finished a slice of toast and some cheese.

Molly nodded as she sipped her tea. "I am. This is exactly what I needed. Something light."

As the women ate, Nancy gently pursued the topic of Molly's fatigue. When had it started? Molly was vague and unsure. She thought possibly that morning. And the queasiness, Nancy asked, when had that started? Later, Molly said, maybe this afternoon. Again, she couldn't be sure.

Nancy found the answers somewhat vexing. From such vague responses, Nancy could find no clear direction in which to go. So, she shifted gears and asked the question that had been simmering in her mind since her arrival.

"Molly, I this is a bit off topic, but I was wondering if you have the guest registers for the resort for the years before you and Tim took over?"

Molly stared at Nancy for a moment, clearly surprised by the question. "Um, yes, we do. Tim wanted to toss them. There was so much to go through when we bought this place, but I insisted we keep them. I said, 'What if a couple comes ten, twenty, or even fifty years from now to celebrate their anniversary at the same resort where they'd honeymooned? They might like to see the register, and their signatures, from all those years ago. Wouldn't that be nice if we could show them their signatures?' Tim didn't seem convinced but he agreed."

Nancy felt the gods had smiled on her. Bless you, Molly, she wanted to say. Bless you, Molly for insisting those registers be kept.

Nancy patted her mouth with a napkin and smiled. "Well, I'm glad you were able to convince Tim. Those registers might hold the key to solving the murders here. Would you mind if I looked at them?"

"What? They might be able to solve the murders?" Molly's gaped at Nancy in amazement.

"Might," Nancy stressed. "I need to compare some signatures. Well, first I need to find a signature from years ago. Would it be hard for you to get the old guest registers?"

Molly, still astounded at this turn of events, mumbled, "No, not at all. The old registers are here, in the office. I .. that's our third bedroom. I turned it into a make-shift office. All the old records are in there. All the stuff I didn't want to throw away."

"Perfect," Nancy said. She couldn't believe her good luck. "If you don't mind I'd like to go through those old registers after I clean up the kitchen."

A concerned frown creased Molly's forehead. "I .. well, is there a privacy issue here?"

"Not if you give me permission to peruse them. Anything of interest that I find will be handed over to the police."

Molly thought it over. Gave the matter considerable rumination. "Okay. I don't mind you looking through the registers as long as you promise not to take them out of this bungalow."

"Of course not," Nancy intoned.

"Good. Then, how 'bout I find the registers you're interested in while you clear the kitchen?"

"That works for me." Nancy smiled, stood, and started gathering up plates. She paused and said, "I really appreciate this, Molly."

Molly rose a bit unsteadily to her feet. "I'm glad to help, especially if it leads to catching this murderer." She would do anything to be rid of the murderer and the havoc he had wrecked upon the resort. "Now, what registers are you interested in?"

Nancy was placing the plates in the sink. Over her shoulder, she said, "The one from four years ago. The summer months."

# # # #

Frank was at the resort's bar when he received Nancy's text message. All was well with Molly, she said, and she had a promising lead on the killer.

Well, that certainly got his attention. Unfortunately, Nancy didn't elaborate on what the promising lead was. Frank was left to wonder, just what did she mean?

"Frank, can you make another rum and coke?" Jason called.

"Sure," Frank said.

Frank was behind the bar, helping Jason. Tim was playing host tonight, doing Molly's job. And if Frank were to give an opinion, he'd say that Tim was doing a fine job. The man knew how to engage his guests and make them feel special.

Frank was behind the bar because he had offered his services. Tim had been reluctant to accept, but when Jason said he could use an extra pair of hands, Tim had relented saying, 'Only for tonight.'

As Frank had told Tim, he'd spent a fair amount of time as a bartender. It was part of being a Special Agent. Actually, being a jack-of-all trades was important if not paramount. A Special Agent had to be able to slip into a job or persona at a moment's notice. That was exactly what Frank had done tonight. He'd slipped effortlessly into the bartending role.

From his vantage point at the bar, he could observe all the diners in the dining room. There was Mr. North, Greta Swan, and Bridget sitting in the center of the room at the table that had once held Frank and Nancy and two other couples. Tonight, Mr. North, Greta, and Bridget sat there and as far as Frank could tell, they seemed to be getting on very well.

Over by the windows overlooking the ocean, were Gary and Lana seated at a table for two. They were enjoying a quiet dinner. They looked happy and in love. Gary had ordered a bottle of wine. Quite an extravagance for the young couple. Frank, himself, had delivered the bottle and poured the wine. They'd all laughed at the incongruity of the situation, of Frank helping out. Lana had expressed concern about Molly's absence and Frank had assured her, he would inform her the minute he heard anything from Nancy.

Well, he'd just heard from Nancy and should deliver the message that all was well with Molly. There, out of the kitchen, came Gary and Lana's appetizers. Frank would deliver those along with the good news that Molly was feeling better.

Frank handed Jason the rum and coke he'd made and said, "Be back in a sec. I'm going to deliver these appetizers."

Jason nodded at Frank's retreating back.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Nancy was seated at the desk in the third bedroom, the room Tim and Molly used as a make-shift office. Nancy was going through the guest register from four years ago. Molly had found the register and laid it out on the desk.

Molly was resting in the bedroom watching TV while Nancy searched.

Nancy turned to the month of May and started scanning the guests' names. Slowly, methodically, her index finger moved down the page .. name by name.

Nothing in May. On to June. Slowly she scanned .. page by page .. and name by name.

Then, there it was, in black and white, the name she was looking for, the signature beautifully preserved in the register. Nancy sucked in a breath and marveled at her good luck. Four years ago, the killer had signed his name and his wife's name.

Nancy slumped back in her chair, her heart racing. Mr. Graves sprang to her mind. In a way, she was completing _his_ investigation. He had stared this case years ago at the request of a client. Poor Mr. Graves, his search had led to his death. He had not deserved to die the way he did, a knife in the throat. For that matter, Bruce Tipton had not deserved to die that way either.

"Justice," Nancy whispered. "There will be justice for you, Mr. Graves, and for Bruce Tipton. And, for two wives."

Those women had had no idea what awaited them. They'd married in good faith and with love in their hearts. Unfortunately, they had been naïve. So, so very naïve. They had not truly known their husband and that lack of knowledge had cost them dearly. Currently, another wife's life hung in the balance. A third wife did not truly know the man she had married.

Nancy glanced down at the guest register. The signature glared back at her. It seemed to taunt her.

 _Catch me if you can!_

Nancy's expression hardened and her eyes tightened at the corners. I will, she silently vowed. _I will_.

The signature was the first piece of hard evidence found in this investigation. Of course, it would have to be compared to a current signature, one written within the past month or so. A handwriting expert would have to do that. The police would call upon a handwriting expert to compare the signatures and definitively determine if they matched. Nancy felt certain they would indeed match. There was no doubt in her mind.

It _was_ the same man. And he _was_ the killer. He had killed four innocent, unsuspecting people.

 _Perhaps, he had killed more people._

The thought caused Nancy to shudder. She shook off the chilling thought and buoyed herself with the fact that the newspaper photo and article, along with the signature, had unveiled the killer to her. She now knew who he was and those three pieces of evidence – the photo, article, and signature – would most likely convict him. Put him away for a very long time.

Mr. Graves had known, Nancy thought in a sudden rush. This town had two beach resorts. Mr. Graves must have checked the other resort and when he came up empty there, he'd come here, to the _Palms Resort_ and had happened upon the killer. What were the chances? One in a hundred? One in a thousand? Whatever the odds, Mr. Graves had stumbled upon the killer, found him when he least expected to.

Excitement and anticipation coursed through Nancy and her skin tinkled. She, too, had stumbled upon the killer. The photo … that had been key.

Now, she must call Detective Gosling and tell him of her findings and theory.

# # # #

Frank was behind the bar making more drinks.

Tim came up to the counter and jerked his chin in the direction of Frank. "How's it going, Frank? Need a break?"

"I'm fine," Frank said. "By the way, I got a text from Nancy. She said Molly is better. Said Molly ate some toast and drank some tea."

"Hey, that's good news. Thanks for letting me know." Tim placed an elbow on the counter and leaned in, toward Frank. Tim's posture was conspiratorial – this was just between the two of them. "You know, Frank, I feel .. I kinda feel like I should be there with Molly and not here. But then I say to myself, who's going to watch over the dinner service? I didn't know all the troubles one could run in to running a resort. Things keep cropping up. It's like the problems never end. It's something new every day."

Frank wiped up a spill and nodded. "Yeah, running a business is never easy. You learn as you go. For what it's worth, I think you and Molly are doing a great job. And think about it, you've had more .. um, more difficult problems than most people have when starting a business. I mean, in my line of work dealing with murderers is not uncommon. In your line of work, it's unusual to say the least. But I think you're doing the best you can under the circumstances and that's all anybody can do."

Tim heaved a sigh and blew out a breath. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Well, I better get back to my guests. Gotta keep them happy."

"That's true." Frank watched as Tim went to check on the dinner guests.

Frank's phone pinged and he tugged his phone off the waistband of his shorts. A new text from Nancy. Frank frowned as he read.

What? Gosling and Ellis were on their way to the resort?

Frank didn't know what to make of that. Then he read the last line in Nancy's text and his blood ran cold.

 _I know who the killer is._

Frank had narrowed the suspects down to two people and prided himself on that. Nancy had apparently narrowed it down to one. Frank wondered if she was correct.

Only time would tell.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, okay. Sorry to drag this out for one more chapter and sorry this is kind of a short chapter. I figured, any update is better than no update. Right? Just so you know, the big reveal will happen next chapter. That's a promise!_

 _I feel like most of you already know who the killer is so it's no big deal. And, what can I say, I'm awful at writing murder mysteries, but I love trying to fool the reader! LOL_

 _Anyway, I'll try to post the next chapter soon. Oh, and a super *big* thank you to everyone reading, reviewing, and following. :)_


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Frank had expected Gosling and Ellis to show up within thirty minutes. They didn't. An hour and fifteen minutes passed before the detectives walked into the dining room. By then it was well past eight thirty p.m. and many of the dinner guests had left.

One of Frank's two suspects had left, too. That troubled Frank, but honestly, there hadn't been anything he could do about it. He couldn't stop someone from leaving the dining room, not without raising suspicions and suspicions were all he had at the moment.

His other suspect, Tim Kincaid, was still in the dining room, still being the affable host. Frank had to hand it to Tim, the man was very good with his guests. He knew how to soothe and cajole them, how to make them feel special and important. Was that because Tim was a good actor? Frank had to wonder.

Frank watched, from behind the bar, as Detectives Ellis and Gosling approached Tim. Ellis, the senior detective, was brusque, his walk purposeful and direct. He was a man on a mission, he had a murder case to solve.

Tim's pleasant demeanor fell away when he spotted Ellis headed for him. Tim's back stiffened and a different persona came to the surface, this one ready for battle. An irritated frown narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his brow.

Tim wasn't going to give an inch. He was prepared to stand his ground .. to state his case .. do whatever it took ...

Tim motioned Gosling and Ellis to the far end of the bar. There the men's conversation would be out of range of the remaining dinner guests. However, Frank, who was casually drying wine glasses, could hear everything that was said.

Ellis, the lead detective, spoke first, "Mr. Kincaid, sorry to bother you this evening."

Tim's expression said he did not believe this for a minute. Then he noticed the paper in Gosling's hand and his frown deepened. It furrowed his brow and gave him a haunted look.

Gosling laid the paper on the bar counter. "A search warrant, Mr. Kincaid."

"What? What for? You've searched all the bungalows .. twice! I can't imagine what else you'd need to search." Tim wanted them gone and out of his life.

Ellis cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. "We'd like to look at your guest register, Mr. Kincaid."

For several seconds, Tim stood there dumbfounded, merely blinking at Ellis. Finally, Tim found his voice, "The guest register? What .. why on earth .."

Gosling withdrew another sheet of paper from inside his suit jacket. "If you could just sign this, Mr. Kincaid. It's a permission form authorizing us to take the register. The register might be needed as evidence."

"Evidence?" Tim nearly roared.

"Please," Ellis said, "we'd like to keep this quiet as I'm sure you would, too. No need to alarm your guests." Ellis lifted an eyebrow and tipped his head ever-so slightly in the direction of the dining area where guests seemed to be lingering. The sudden appearance of police detectives had provoked curiosity.

"We'd like to view the guest register," Ellis continued. "If it holds the evidence we suspect it will, then we'll need to take it to the station. Don't worry, we'll make a copy of it for you."

Gosling laid the permission form on the counter and placed a pen beside it. "If you'd be so kind as to sign this form, then we'll be out of your hair."

Tim shot a pleading look at Frank. _What do you think? Should I do it?_

Frank nodded his consent. He, himself, was intensely curious as to what Gosling and Ellis hoped to find in the guest register. He suspected Nancy had a hand in all of this.

Tim grabbed the pen and signed his name, rather violently. "There," he said and shoved the paper and pen back at Gosling. "I suppose you'll want me to get the register for you now?"

A smug grin cracked the corners of Ellis' mouth. "No need, Mr. Kincaid. Miss Drew and your wife are waiting for Gosling and me in the lobby."

"My wife?" Tim's eyes grew wide and round. Ellis' statement had taken him by complete surprise. What was Molly doing here? Was she well enough to be out of bed?

Gosling folded the permission form and tucked it, and the pen, inside his suit jacket. "Stay here, Mr. Kincaid. If we need anything further from you, we'll let you know." It was more an order than a suggestion.

The detectives departed briskly and the dinner guests watched with avid interest. As soon as the detectives were out the door, guests bent their heads and broke into hushed conversations. Must be a new development in the case. Perhaps, the police had a suspect. Perhaps, an arrest would be made tonight.

Tim turned to Frank for advice. "What should I do?"

Frank was prepared. He'd seen Ellis' small nod and the look in his eye. _Keep an eye on Mr. Kincaid_.

"Stay here," Frank said. "You have guests to take care of. They need your assurance that all's well." Frank jutted his chin at the whispering guests. "You don't want the talk to get out of hand. Best to put their minds at ease as soon as possible."

Tim scanned the dining room, saw the guests whispering and some casting suspicious glances his way. Yes, he needed to do something and do it soon.

He turned to Frank again. "What should I tell them? I can't tell them the truth. I can't say the police were here for the guest register."

Frank laid down the cloth he'd been using to dry glasses. "Tell them the police were here asking questions about Jeremy Hill. Say they are investigating his accident."

Tim smiled. "That's brilliant, Hardy. Absolutely brilliant. It's the perfect deflection. Gets suspicion off of .. of the resort."

Frank shrugged and grinned. "That's the idea." Secretly, he wondered if Tim was happy to deflect suspicion from himself.

# # # #

Nancy and Molly sat in the resort's lobby. Nancy on one chair and Molly in another. The guest register from four years ago lay on Molly's lap. Molly appeared dazed and confused. Nancy had given her the barest of details as to what was going on. Nancy had said very quietly that she had an idea as to who the killer was. More than that, Nancy did not want say, she did not wish to unduly upset Molly.

Nancy and Molly were waiting – rather impatiently in Nancy's case – for Ellis and Gosling. Nancy had shared her theory about the killer with the detectives. She had started with the newspaper photo, she'd told them. She'd recognized the man in the photo. She had seen him today, standing in almost the exact same pose on his porch. The man in the newspaper photo had been on a porch, too.

Nancy had further theorized that the killer liked the _Palms Resort_. He'd felt comfortable here and had returned to it. The question for Nancy had been; did he like the resort well enough to visit again as a guest or had he liked it well enough to purchase it?

In the beginning, Nancy had considered Bruce Tipton, Gary Simpson, and Tim Kincaid as the most likely suspects. Jeremy Hill had warranted suspicion for a while, but he wasn't a newlywed like the other three men and he moved lower on Nancy's suspect list. Bruce's murder soon crossed him off the list all together. Only Gary Simpson and Tim Kincaid remained as viable suspects. That's when the photo proved helpful.

Nancy had recognized the man in the photo. However, it was a poor photo and Nancy knew it would never convict anyone. The image was too grainy and out of focus. No jury would pass justice on a man based solely on that photo. More definitive proof of the killer's identity was needed. That's when Nancy had hit upon the idea of the killer's signature. It tied in nicely with her theory that he had been to the resort before. All she needed was to search the guest registers, from four years ago, for a Daniel Jones. That was the name he had used back then.

Lo and behold, she had found it. His signature. The realization still chilled her.

Detectives Ellis and Gosling strode into the lobby. Nancy got to her feet, anxious to compare signatures. Ellis and Gosling had collected Tim Kincaid's signature. It was on the permission form they'd so cleverly had him sign. His signature would now be compared to Daniel Jones' signature in the old register, the register that lay on Molly's lap.

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Kincaid," Ellis said and reached out a hand. "I'd like the register now. This won't take but a minute." His fatherly smile encouraged her to hand over the register without asking a question.

"Thank you, ma'am. You can just stay seated. We don't need your assistance .. yet."

Molly nodded numbly. The fatigue was coming back, starting to weigh her down. The chair was cozy and warm. She would have liked to go to curl up and go to sleep. Her bed would be softer. Oh, how she longed for her bed and to sleep and .. to forget. A nightmare seemed to be playing out around her and she wanted no part of it. None at all.

Vaguely, she wondered where Tim was. Oh, probably in the dining room … Her eyes slowly closed.

Nancy, Gosling, and Ellis gathered at the counter where the current guest register lay. Gosling took out the permission form, laid it on the counter and smoothed it out. Ellis pushed the current register aside and placed the old register on the counter. Using the bookmarker, he opened the register to the page with Daniel Jones' signature.

Ellis adjusted his eyeglasses and peered down at the register. "Well, let's see."

Ellis, Gosling, and Nancy took turns comparing Daniel Jones' signature to Tim Kincaid's. The detectives kept their voices low and did not to say Tim's name out loud. They did not wish to alarm his wife.

Nancy was the first to comment. Her mouth twisted in a grimace as she shook her head. "I don't think they match."

Ellis looked at her and nodded. "I'm inclined to agree. Let's compare the other. Gosling, would you be so good as to find the page for us in the current register?"

"Yes, sir." Gosling opened the register and flipped through the pages. He soon landed upon the one with Gary Simpson's signature.

Again, the three detectives took turns studying the two signatures. A hush fell over the room as the detectives examined the documents, their eyes shifted from the old register to the new one.

At last, Ellis straightened and cleared his throat. "Ahem, well, I'd say that clinches it. Looks the same to me."

"I agree, sir," Gosling said. "Of course, a handwriting expert will have to verify it, but yes, there seems no doubt about it, those signatures were written by the same man."

Ellis turned to Nancy. She was unusually quiet. "Miss Drew, what's your opinion?"

"Yes, it's him." Nancy laid a finger under Gary Simpson's name in the register. "And he's the man in the newspaper photo."

Ellis cast a glance at Molly. She was slumped in the chair. Looks to be asleep, Ellis thought. To Gosling, he said, "Well, I'd say it's time we paid Mr. Simpson a visit."

Gosling nodded understanding and agreement. This would be more than a _visit_.

"Miss Drew, I'd like it if you stayed here with Mrs. Kincaid," Ellis said. "You might want to take her back to her bungalow. Looks like she should be in bed."

Nancy tried to hide her disappointment. She had hoped to see Gary Simpson arrested and led away in handcuffs. Now, it appeared she would miss it. Molly could not be left alone.

Nancy started across the room to get Molly, but spun when the door to the hall burst open. In rushed Tim and Frank, both men clearly agitated.

"Screams!" Tim said. "We heard screams!"

"From the direction of the Simpson's bungalow," Frank added and looked at Nancy.

Nancy saw the question in Frank's eye. Was Gary the killer? Nancy nodded. Yes, he was and now they needed to get to the Simpson's bungalow.

* * *

 _A/N: We're so close to the finish line now. We'll have the big wrap up and then some N/F fluff. It is their vacation after all. ;)_

 _Hopefully, I was able to keep some of you guessing as to the killer's identity until the final reveal. And please, if you leave a review, don't use the killer's name in your comments. I don't want any future readers to stumble upon the name in the reviews. Thank you so much! And thank you to those who have taken the time to leave a review. Those are always appreciated._


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

Detectives Ellis took charge of the situation. "Gosling, you and Hardy head over to the Simpson bungalow. Use extreme caution. I'll call for backup."

Gosling and Frank exchanged looks and nods and quickly left the room.

Ellis turned to Tim who was crouched at his wife's side, holding her hand in his. "Mr. Kincaid, I'd like you to stay here and watch over your wife. If any guests stop by to ask what's happening, tell them the police have the situation under control. Also, we may need to use your office as a command post again. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. Use whatever you want. Please, just get the man responsible for all of this .. for killing two people."

"We will, Mr. Kincaid," Ellis said. "We will."

Ellis yanked his police radio off his belt, stepped into the hall, and radioed the station. He hadn't noticed that Nancy had disappeared. She'd slipped out with Gosling and Frank.

Gosling sprinted down the wooden path with Frank and Nancy on his heels. Three sets of feet thumped the wooden boards.

Nancy thought about Lana Simpson as they ran. Lana was young and pretty. Perhaps, too naïve. Nancy remembered how 'in love' Lana and Gary had always seemed. They were always holding hands and cuddling. But deep down, how well had Lana known Gary? Not well enough, Nancy guessed.

Gosling slowed his pace and held up a hand, signaling Frank and Nancy to halt. The Simpson bungalow was dead ahead. Light glowed around every curtained window. Five or six curious guests had gathered outside. They were huddled together, off to one side, staring anxiously at the bungalow.

One of the guests, a man, broke away from the group and came over to Gosling.

"There's been shouting and screaming inside," the man said. "We," he indicated himself and the other guests, "we didn't know what to do. Someone ran and told Tim in the dining room. When he came back, he said that Tim said the police were already here."

"We are." Gosling opened one side of his suit jacket and displayed his police badge.

A loud, prolonged scream cut through the night and all heads snapped in the direction of the Simpson's bungalow.

"Everyone, back," Gosling ordered.

A swift motion of his hand sending the small group scrambling backwards, further away from the bungalow. Their eyes, however, never lost sight of the bungalow. Not even for a second. Something was going on in. Something bad.

"Frank," Gosling said, "I'm at three. You're at nine."

"Got it." Frank understood exactly what Gosling meant. Gosling would approach the front door on the right side. Frank would approach on the left.

The two men hunched slightly and cautiously approached the bungalow. Nancy trailed discreetly behind them. Her main concern was for Lana. Had Gary injured his wife? Had he seriously hurt her?

Gosling withdrew his revolver and held it down along his thigh. He and Frank went up the porch steps slowly. Frank broke to the left and Gosling broke to the right.

An aching, pleading cry shattered the calm.

"Nooooooo! Pleeeese!"

 _Hurry!_ Nancy thought as she climbed the stairs. _We must get inside!_

Gosling pressed his back to the wall beside the front door and shouted, "Police! Open up!"

Frank, on the left of the door, stood ready. Neither man harbored any illusion that the door would be opened voluntarily.

Gosling banged on the door with his revolver and shouted, "Open up!"

A straggled cry tugged at everyone's hearts. "Pleeeese! Nooo!"

"We're going in," Gosling hissed at Frank and Frank nodded.

Gosling grabbed the doorknob. It turned and he flung open the door. He stepped inside, his revolver out in front of him, in a firm, two-handed grip.

"Freeze," he yelled and aimed his revolver at the person wielding a knife.

Frank came in and stood to the left of Gosling. He stared in confusion at the scene in front of him.

Nancy crept in and peeked around Gosling's right shoulder. Her eyes widened in horror at what she saw. It was .. it was beyond comprehension.

Gosling's voice was calm, yet commanding, "Put the knife down, Mrs. Simpson."

Lana Simpson turned her head and stared at Gosling. She didn't blink or seem in the least bit fazed. A crazed gleam shone in her eyes. _Couldn't he see that she was trying to kill her husband?_

Nancy stared back, open mouthed. She wondered if Lana Simpson had gone mad. Had she become completely unhinged? Something, something frightful must have driven the young woman to .. to violence.

"Put down the knife," Gosling repeated. A hard edge sharpened his words. He was more authoritative and less gentle.

Nancy spied Gary on the floor. He was on his side, propped on an elbow. Cuts and gashes, bleeding freely, ran up and down his arms. It was apparent he'd tried to defend himself. A darkening stain on his shirt told Nancy he'd been stabbed in the chest, too.

The situation was dire, the tension was mounting. Tension that needed to be defused.

Nancy decided to act. She stepped forward and placed herself in front of Gosling. Maybe .. just maybe, Lana would listen to a female voice.

Nancy got down on one knee. This was a less threatening posture. Not to mention, it gave Gosling a clear shot should he need to take one.

Nancy tentatively stretched out a hand. "Lana, please. Give me the knife."

Fear and frustration clinched Frank's fists. He inched forward, ready to protect Nancy.

Lana gazed numbly at the bloody knife in her hand as though she was just discovering it. Her hand was bloody, too. How did that happen? For a moment, she was confused, but then she remembered. She remembered all of it. Then she looked at Nancy and her eyes pleaded for help and understanding.

"I .. he," she cast a quick, vicious glance at her husband on the floor then focused her attention on Nancy, "you don't understand!" Lana's lovely face twisted into a mixture of anger, disbelief, and despair. "He .. he killed them." She pointed the knife at Gary and a droplet of blood dripped from the blade.

"Please," Nancy said. She was begging now. "We do understand and we know that he killed them. That's why we're here. Detective Gosling is here to arrest him." She stretched out her hand further. "Please, Lana, give me the knife."

Nancy saw the hesitation. Lana wasn't quite ready to give into reason. Nancy had to push harder.

"Please, Lana, let Detective Gosling do his job. Let the police take Gary in. This needs to be done the correct way. Gary will be brought to justice and punished for his crimes. I promise you. But that can't happen if you don't give me the knife. You want Gary to pay for his crimes, don't you?"

Nancy could see Lana faltering, her resolve had begun to crumble.

Just a little more, Nancy thought. "Lana, it's time for the police to take over. You know that. The police will still need your help though." You will need to explain what happened here, Nancy was thinking.

"Are you willing to help the police, Lana?" Nancy asked.

Lana glared at Gary. Anguish etched every inch of her face and contorted her features. What had she done? Gary was bleeding. He needed a doctor. Lana sucked in a ragged breath. She wasn't a killer. Killing wasn't part of her nature. Killing was his nature. Killing made her no better than him.

Shame washed over her. It spread like hot lava from her heart to her arms and down her legs. She was ashamed of herself. Ashamed of what she'd done. Stupid! Foolish! How could she?

Gary put a hand on his chest to staunch the blood. "Please, Lana. I love you. I know you didn't mean to.."

"Shut up!" Lana screamed. She wanted no part of him. Not now. Not ever. His words were vile and disgusting to her ears. "You never loved me."

Lana turned to Nancy and, with a trembling hand, gave her the knife. "Here, take it. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Lana fell on her knees and collapsed into Nancy's arms. Nancy set the bloody knife on the floor next to her knee and hugged Lana tightly.

"There, there," Nancy said as Lana sobbed into her shoulder.

Frank dashed to the kitchenette sink, grabbed a dishtowel and bent over Gary. Frank pressed the towel to the wound on Gary's chest. Gary was pale and week. He'd lost a lot of blood. Frank applied more pressure to the wound and sought the pulse on Gary's wrist.

Gosling holstered his revolver and kneeled beside Frank. "How's he doing?"

"Heart rate's stable," Frank said. "Blood pressure may be dropping. He needs an ambulance."

"I'll radio for one."

Nancy still held Lana in a tight hug. The women were on their knees on the floor. Nancy rubbed Lana's back and looked over at Frank. He turned and met her gaze. Nancy's gave him a small smile. They'd done it. They'd caught the killer. Nancy arched an eyebrow in question. _How was Gary?_

The corners of Frank's mouth drooped. He held out a hand and waggled it. Gary's condition was iffy.

Nancy's face fell. That was not good news. As much as she disliked Gary, she did not want him to die, not here in front of Lana.

However, Nancy kept asking herself, why had Lana attacked her husband?

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, so we still have a few loose ends to tie up. That's all coming up in the next chapter and then N/F can finally relax and enjoy their vacation. Only the Hardys and Nancy Drew have vacations like this! :)_

 _Thank you to those who left a review. I appreciate every one of them and like hearing readers' thoughts on the story._


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

The water ran red and swirled in the basin of the bathroom sink. Lana watched the blood on her hands flow down the drain. She used the bar of soap and washed her hands. Washed them thoroughly. Tears made it difficult to see what she was doing, but she didn't really need to see. Washing one's hands was a reflexive skill. Something a person learned early in life. A person could wash their hands blindfolded if need be. That was the case now. Lana was blindfolded by tears and grief.

"Ahem, ma'am." The uniformed policeman at the bathroom door was getting impatient. She'd taken a long time in the bathroom, rinsing her face, washing her hands.

"Sorry, I'm almost finished." Lana rinsed her hands and pulled a towel off the towel rack. She dried her hands and eyes. There, she was ready to face the world. Or was she?

She had changed into a clean shirt and shorts. The ones she'd been wearing were splattered with blood. _Gary's blood_. Those bloody clothes were bagged and tagged and laying on the bed with other evidence.

Yes, other evidence.

A heart rending sob escaped Lana's lips as she flipped the bathroom light switch to off. God, what had she done? She put a fist to her mouth and slumped against the door frame.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" The police officer looked genuinely concerned.

Lana summoned some hidden reserve of strength and pushed away from the door frame. "I'm fine. Just a little lightheaded." She brushed aside the officer's hand. She could – and would – walk by herself.

"Detective Ellis is waiting for you in the living room," the young officer said.

Lana moved toward the living room, her heart thudding wildly. An appalling sense of dread engulfed her. She gasped for breath as though drowning.

 _Drowning_.

Her mind went back to the day she and Gary had gone surfing with Nancy and Frank. Lana remembered Gary swimming so far out, way beyond her ability to catch up. Had he been trying to kill her then? The thought had circled round her mind for days. Persistent and insidious, she couldn't quite banish it nor dismiss it.

"There you are," Detective Ellis said. He was standing, very upright, in the center of the living room. "We're going to take you to the station, ask you a few more questions."

He'd already told her that and the fact he was repeating the information irritated her. He seemed to be handling her delicately, like he was afraid she might break. Well, she wouldn't. Yes, she'd snapped and had attacked Gary, but that was then and this was now. She'd regained her senses and the full horror of what she had done had settled heavily upon her. She knew full well she might not be coming back to the bungalow tonight. Not after what she'd done. They might just lock her up and throw away the key.

Nancy was still here. Her presence gave Lana a degree of comfort. Lana instinctively reached out for Nancy and they embraced briefly.

"I'll meet you at the station," Nancy said. "If that's okay."

Lana glanced at Detective Ellis and he gave a curt nod of approval.

"That would be nice," Lana said to Nancy. "I'd feel better with you there."

"Good," Ellis said. "You do understand, Mrs. Simpson that the officer will have to handcuff you. It's standard procedure."

Lana nodded meekly and the young officer from the bathroom approached. His handcuffs were already in his hands. He turned her round and gently cuffed her. She felt like crying, but didn't. She wouldn't fall apart yet. Later, when she was alone in a jail cell, then she could come undone, give vent to her anger and grief.

# # # #

The young officer put Lana in the back of his patrol car and drove her to the station. Nancy rode with Ellis and Gosling to the Police Station. Gosling did the driving and Ellis did the talking.

"I want you there as a calming, reassuring influence," Ellis told Nancy. "It's clear that Mrs. Simpson feels comfortable around you. If I see that becoming a problem though, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Of course, I understand," Nancy said from the back seat. She was happy to be included in the interrogation. She knew her role was to get Lana to talk and keep her talking. Nancy might have to comfort Lana a bit, but not too much. In a way – a very subtle way – Nancy would be playing _Mutt_ to Ellis' _Jeff_.

Nancy wondered if Lana knew the seriousness of the crime she'd committed. Assault with a deadly weapon could get her five years in prison. If Lana could prove self-defense – and Nancy thought that highly unlikely since Gary had not seemed to be fighting back – then she might only get five years of probation.

And if Gary died? Well, that would probably make prison time a certainty.

Nancy and Frank had briefly discussed this just before Frank left to go to their bungalow to shower and change his clothes. He'd been covered in blood after tending to Gary. Frank said he would come to the Police Station later and pick Nancy up.

The interrogation room was ready when Nancy and Ellis arrived at the Police Station. The young officer had already taken Lana to it, removed her handcuffs, and sat her at the metal table.

Lana sat in the room and shivered. The room was cold, the walls dull and drab, and the overhead light much too bright. Lana felt like a bug under a microscope about to be dissected. That probably wasn't far from the truth.

She looked up when the door opened. Nancy and Detective Ellis walked in, notepads and pens in their hands. Nancy sat at the end of the table and Ellis sat across from Lana. Lana looked to Nancy for support. Nancy, however, kept her eyes averted. She busied herself with settling into her chair and positioning the notepad on the table.

Lana suddenly felt very alone.

"Miss Drew is here at my request and indulgence," Ellis stated rather abruptly and ominously.

Lana just stared at him. What could she say to that?

Ellis withdrew a small tape recorder from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. "With your permission, I'd like to record our conversation."

Lana nodded mutely.

"I need a verbal yes or no," Ellis said.

"Yes. You have my permission," Lana's voice was harsh and testy. She shot a quick glance at Nancy and thought she detected a hint of a smile. There, Nancy agreed. Ellis was being an ass.

"Thank you, Mrs. Simpson." Ellis appeared oblivious to the secret look the women had shared. "Now, if you would, please tell us how the attack began. That is, what provoked you to attack your husband?"

Lana drew in a deep breath and sat up straight. This was it, her chance to explain things. "It started after Mr. Graves was murdered, that's when the police came around asking their questions. 'Had Mr. Graves ever told me the story about the wives?' No, I'd never heard it. I didn't know what the police were talking about, but they explained it to me. Told me all about the newspaper clipping and that it had had a picture of the killer. None of this meant anything to me. It upset me more than anything. I was here on my honeymoon, I didn't want to think about murders and murderers."

Lana shot Nancy another quick glance and saw kindness in her eyes. She understands, Lana thought and continued her story. "But something changed. Gary changed after that. Or maybe he'd changed just before Mr. Graves was murdered. It's hard to be sure." She looked at Ellis, stared at him a moment.

"Don't worry too much about the time frame, Mrs. Simpson. We'll figure that out later." Ellis was tender, almost civil.

"Okay," Lana said. "Well, what I meant was, and Nancy knows about this," Lana held a hand out in Nancy's direction, "Gary did something that .. that made me question if he really loved me. At the time, I thought I was overreacting, but after the police came and told the story about the wives I got to thinking. You see, one of the wives had been saved by her husband while they were on honeymoon. He'd saved her from drowning in the ocean." Lana's voice had risen. "Well, the same thing had happened to me. Nancy and Frank were there. They can confirm my story. It was Frank who saved me."

Ellis turned to Nancy.

"It's true, sir. Frank had been teaching us how to surf that day. The four of us spent an hour or so testing our skills on the surfboards out in the ocean. Then Gary said he and Lana were proficient enough and that they were going off on their own. I wasn't comfortable with that. Lana had told me earlier that she wasn't a strong swimmer, however, Gary was. I suggested to Frank that we stick close to Gary and Lana just in case."

"Thank goodness you did." Remembered fear flickered in Lana's sky blue eyes. "Gary got way ahead of me and out in deep water. He didn't notice when a huge wave pushed me under. I was terrified and shaking when I surfaced. Frank swam up to me at that moment and I was never so happy to see someone in my entire life. I .. I suppose Gary would have saved me if he hadn't been so far away." Lana put her fingertips to the corners of her eyes to hold back the tears.

"If he'd saved you it would have fit nicely with the killer's established pattern," Ellis said. "So, Mrs. Simpson, how did this lead to you attacking your husband?"

"I .. I began to suspect him after that. I laid awake at night wondering if he was the killer. Like I said, he'd changed. Gary was angry about the police, about them asking questions. I couldn't understand why he was so angry. 'We can't enjoy ourselves here,' he'd say. 'We can't relax with the police constantly popping up.' He even suggested we leave, go to another resort. I said that would be a waste of money. Besides, we'd made friends at the _Palms Resort_. I liked Nancy, Molly, and Bridget and I didn't want to leave them."

At the mention of Bridget's name a pained expression stole onto Lana's face and she fell silent. Gradually, she gathered her resolve and went on, "After Bruce's murder I got really scared. At that last dinner with Bruce, the one where Bridget was still in the hospital, he, I mean Bruce, was really nasty to Gary. It seemed as if he made a point of picking on Gary and making fun of him. I was uncomfortable with it and I was sure Gary was, too. I wondered then if Bruce knew something. Did he suspect Gary of being the killer? If so, he must have seen the photo in the newspaper. Mr. Graves must have shown it to Bruce."

Lana paused, sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "Gary was really angry that night. When we got back to our bungalow he was a bundle of nerves. He couldn't relax and kept pacing the living room. He said someone needed to put Bruce Tipton in his place. I didn't know what he meant by that and didn't ask. I'd never seen Gary so angry and it frightened me. I made some tea and tried to ignore his mood. Eventually, he calmed down and we watched TV together. Around eleven thirty I called it a night and went to bed. Gary said he'd be in in a little bit.

"I got in bed and laid there listening, wondering what Gary was doing. I could hear him moving around in the living room. Thirty minutes later, around midnight, he peeked into the bedroom. I think he wanted to see if I was asleep. He came up to the bed and leaned over me. I had my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. I could feel him there, hovering over me, watching. I felt vulnerable laying there. I had no way to defend myself. If he'd wanted to stab me, he could. I was terrified and wondered, would he stab me or choke me or do something else? I worked myself into a state and just when I couldn't take it anymore, he left. I heard him shut the bedroom door. A few seconds later, I thought I heard the front door open and close. I got out of bed and crept to the bedroom door. I listened for a moment to be sure he was gone. Then I thought, this is ridiculous. If he's still here, I'll just say I'm going to the bathroom. I opened the door and went into the hall. The bungalow was silent. He'd left a light on in the living room. I looked around, checked the bathroom, and didn't find him. He was gone."

Nancy also remembered that night. She and Frank had spent several hours studying the newspaper photo to no avail. In order to release pent up frustration, they'd decided on a walk along the beach. The walk had turned into a romantic stroll and things had looked promising for a midnight tryst, that was, until they stumbled upon Bruce, a knife wedged in his throat.

Lana was talking again, "Gary came back around one thirty. I was in bed counting the minutes until he returned. He did something odd. Well, I thought it was odd. He took a shower. I wondered if he'd fallen and gotten dirty. After the shower he came into the bedroom, but he didn't get in bed, not right away, he fumbled around in his suitcase. It sounded like he was rearranging his clothes. I thought this was odd, too. Most of our clothes were in the closet and drawers. Neither of us had left much in our suitcases. I couldn't figure out what he was doing, messing around in his suitcase at that time of night. Finally, he closed the suitcase and got in bed. He rolled over, propped himself on an elbow, and stared at me. I could feel his eyes on me. It was unnerving. I had my eyes closed, but I knew he was staring at me. I wondered if I was being ridiculous. Had I let my imagination run away with me?

"He ran a hand over my hair and said my name." Lana mimicked the motion by smoothing her hair. "'Lana, my sweets,' he said. 'Are you awake?' Those words froze me. I didn't know what I to do. Should I pretend to wake up or keep pretending to be asleep?"

Nancy unconsciously leaned forward. She wondered, too, what Lana had done. Nancy also wondered what she would have done in that situation.

"I couldn't take it anymore," Lana said. "My nerves were shot. I moaned a little and pretended to wake up. I remember looking up at Gary and thinking, are we both just pretending? Is this relationship real or not? Do you love me or don't you?" She met Ellis' eyes for a second and threw Nancy a quick, meaningful look. "I wondered if I was going crazy. Had I made Gary out to be a monster when he wasn't? I .. I was so unsure of things."

Lana sniffed and lowered her head. It looked as if she might cry.

Nancy reached out and touched Lana's forearm. "We understand, Lana, we do. What happened when you pretended to wake up?"

Lana tossed her head from side to side and a watery smile played upon her lips. "He was normal. He was the Gary I'd married, the Gary I'd fallen in love with." She laughed with tears in her eyes. "And I thought I really was going crazy then."

She wiped her eyes and fell silent. She'd come to the hard part. This would take time and strength.

Nancy and Ellis exchanged looks. They, too, realized the final piece was about to be revealed.

"Would you like something to drink, Mrs. Simpson?" Ellis asked.

Lana shook her head, her eyes were still damp. "No. I have to get this out now."

"Very well then." Ellis studied Lana for a moment and then checked the tape recorder. It was still going, recording every word. Now, all he needed was Lana's confession.

* * *

 _A/N: Hmm, well this chapter became longer than I'd planned. Well, in my defense, I want you all to understand why Lana did what she did. Obviously, more will be revealed in the next chapter. I think there will be two more chapters after this._


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

While Lana composed herself. Ellis pulled a folder out from under his notepad and opened it. Lana glimpsed her name on the edge and felt a ripple of fear.

Ellis gave Lana a kindly grin and said, "If you'll just give me a minute.." He didn't wait for a response, instead, he perused the papers inside the folder.

Lana realized he was looking for something and her fear increased.

"Ah, here it is," Ellis said. "It says here, Mrs. Simpson, that you told the police officer who interviewed you on the day after Bruce Tipton's murder, that you and your husband went to bed at eleven-thirty. You never mentioned him leaving the bungalow." Ellis' eyes met Lana's. "Are you saying you lied when you gave this statement?"

Lana sat stock-still for a full half minute and stated defiantly at Ellis. Finally, she spoke. There was a quiver in her voice, "Yes, I lied. You have to understand, I was afraid of my husband. I didn't know if he was a murderer or not. I .. I didn't want him to know that I'd pretended to be asleep. If he knew that I thought he'd kill me for sure." Lana looked to Nancy for support.

Nancy gave a heartfelt nod of understanding. Nancy _did_ understand. Lana's story was a familiar one to police detectives. Wives and girlfriends often lied to protect themselves and their children. Fortunately, in Lana's case, there were no children.

"So," Ellis said, "what you have told me now, about that night and what you are going to tell me, will be the truth?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Lana sat stoically. A hardness had come over her. She was ready to tell her story. Ellis and Nancy needed to hear it so they would understand.

"Very well then, please proceed," Ellis said.

"Okay. Well, after that night I never completely trusted Gary again, although, he seemed fine after that. He was his old self again, the Gary I'd met seven months ago and fallen in love with." Lana sniffed and put a hand to her eye. No tears. Not now. She would be strong.

"But I couldn't get past my doubts .. my fears," she said. "I had to know for sure if he was a murderer or not. I kept thinking about his suitcase. It held the answer to my question. Gary had done something with it that night. I wondered, was he hiding something in it? I told myself that I'd sneak a peek inside the minute I got a chance. I just needed him to leave me alone in the bungalow. Unfortunately, he never did. He stuck by me every second of every day. I wondered if he suspected I'd only been pretending to be asleep that night. If that was the case, then he knew I'd heard him messing around with his suitcase.

"God," she suddenly gasped, "I've been such an emotional wreck the last few days. In public, though, I've tried to put on brave face and hide my turmoil."

In Nancy's mind, Lana had done an exceptional job in that regard. Nancy had not suspected the true level of emotional distress Lana had been under or the depth of her mistrust for her husband. If only Lana had said something to Nancy or Molly. They might have been able to help her.

"Tonight at dinner," Lana said, "Gary ordered a bottle of wine. That was kind of odd. Gary's not a big wine drinker. Actually, he's not a big drinker period. I know I gave him a funny look when he ordered it. He said, 'Let's live a little. Our honeymoon is almost over.'

"Okay, I thought, maybe the wine will settle my nerves. God knows, I needed something to calm me down. I hadn't relaxed in days. I felt like I was always on guard, always wondering what would happen next.

"Anyway, we had a nice dinner and I enjoyed myself in spite of everything that had happened. When we got back to our bungalow, Gary suggested we take a walk on the beach. I was feeling a little woozy from the wine and said I needed to lay down for a bit first. I could tell Gary was disappointed, but he was nice about it and said, okay, that he'd take a walk by himself. He was feeling a little tipsy, too, he said and a short walk on the beach would clear his head.

"The minute he left the bungalow I realized, this was it. This was my chance to look in his suitcase. I think the wine gave me courage. I'm usually not very brave. I remember thinking, I don't care what happens, I just need to know what's in that suitcase. I was prepared to be disappointed. On some level, I wanted to be disappointed. It .. it would be better that way.

Lana was talking fast, her sentences running together. "The suitcase was on a suitcase rack next to the dresser. I jumped off the bed and ran to it. I had to be quick about this. I didn't think Gary would be gone very long.

"I opened the suitcase. It wasn't locked. There were some clothes – shirts and shorts – wadded up. Gary's clothes." Lana was becoming agitated. "I moved them around and felt under them. That's .. that's when I found the knife."

Nancy saw the horror in Lana's eyes.

"The knife was clean. I .. there wasn't any blood on it. But .. but I felt something. The clothes. Where they touched my arm, they were stiff. The clothes, parts of them were stiff." Lana's eyes darted from Ellis to Nancy and back. Did they understand what she was saying?

"I .. I picked one up. A shirt. I held it up. There were brown stains on the front. I .. I almost blacked out. I .. I didn't want to believe it. I tried to rationalize it. It wasn't blood. But .. but instinctively, I knew it was blood." Lana put a fist to her mouth, bit down on her knuckles, and stifled a sob.

"I think some water is in order," Ellis said and pushed back his chair. He went to the door, opened it, and spoke quietly to the officer standing guard.

Nancy offered limited support. "You're doing great, Lana. Just breathe slowly." To offer more support than that might taint the interrogation.

Once Lana had had some water and regained her composure the interrogation resumed.

Ellis got things back on track. "Mrs. Simpson, you told us how you discovered a knife and blood stained clothes in your husband's suitcase. Whose blood did you think was on those clothes?"

Lana's head came up and she stared at Ellis as though he was stupid. "Bruce Tipton's. Gary hid the clothes on the night Bruce Tipton died. It .. it had to be Bruce's blood."

"I believe you're correct. And just so you know, those clothes have been sent to the forensic lab along with the knife that was used to kill Mr. Tipton. The DNA from both will be compared," Ellis curtly informed Lana. Then his voice softened, "Now, if you would, please, tell us what happened next, after you found the clothes and the knife."

Lana's gaze shifted to the table and then to the far wall. "Yes, well, I was dazed and confused. I think I was in shock. I felt like I'd been hit by a car and was just waking up. It was like all the air had been knocked out of me. My mind .. my emotions .. they were reeling. Going a thousands miles a minute. And then I heard the front door open. Gary was back. I .. I wasn't thinking clearly. I couldn't have been. I .. I needed to get out of there. I was frantic. I went to the living room. Gary saw me and I think he was afraid. That's when I realized the knife was still in my hand. I'm not sure exactly how things happened after that. I think he asked me to give him the knife. But you know, I couldn't do that."

Her pleading gaze darted from Ellis to Nancy. "He'd kill me if I gave him the knife. I .. I had to defend myself. I think I lashed out then. I remember cutting him on the arm and hearing him yelp. It must've hurt. That gave me confidence. I felt strong, vindicated. I yelled at him. Said horrible things. Said he'd killed Bruce and I knew it. I'd found the clothes. He didn't deny it, just kept saying I needed to calm down and give him the knife. I couldn't do that though because he'd kill me for sure.

A small sob escaped Lana's pale lips. "It's all a jumble. The next thing I remember is you being there." She pointed at Ellis. "And Nancy asking for the knife."

Lana looked at Nancy and then broke down into uncontrollable sobs. Between sobs she wailed, "Is .. will .. will he live?"

"That remains to be seen," Ellis said and stopped the tape recorder.

The young officer was called in. Lana was now his responsibility. He handcuffed her and led her away. She had a long night ahead of her. She would be fingerprinted, photographed, and eventually led to a jail cell where she would spend the night. What tomorrow held for her was uncertain.

"Thank you for letting me sit in," Nancy said to Ellis as they gathered up their notepads and pens.

Ellis gave her a genuine smile. "My pleasure. I think Mrs. Simpson felt more open to telling the truth with you there."

Quite the compliment, Nancy thought and beamed. "That could be." She dropped the notepad and pen in her handbag. "Um, you know, Mr. Graves' blood might be on some of those clothes in Gary's suitcase."

"Ah, you're absolutely right. I'll make sure to have the lab compare Mr. Graves' DNA with the clothes, too." Ellis graced Nancy with another charming smile.

"Well, there's Frank," Nancy said and flung her handbag over her shoulder. "Thanks again, Detective Ellis." She held out a hand and Ellis shook it.

"I'll keep you and Mr. Hardy in the loop," Ellis said. "You're still in the area for a few more days?"

"We are and we'd appreciate any updates on the case that you deem appropriate." She nodded good-by and turned to the handsome man waiting for her.

Frank was freshly showered and shaved and had a Wal-Mart bag dangling from his hand. The bag instantly piqued Nancy's curiosity. Before she could ask any questions Frank swept her into a one arm embrace and kissed her stolidly on the lips, right there in the Police Station.

The desk sergeant grinned and shook his head. Ellis had already departed so he did not witness this flagrant – flagrant for Frank – display of affection.

"My, my," Nancy said, laying a hand on Frank's chest. "You must have missed me."

"A little," Frank admitted with a huge grin. "All finished here?"

"All finished." Nancy eyed the bag in Frank's hand and then looked up at him. "What's in the bag?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

"I am trying to find out." She laughed and his heart soared. He loved it when she was happy.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "You'll find out when we get to our bungalow."

She made a pouty face. "I have to wait that long? I don't know if I can bare it."

"Sorry," he said and shifted the bag behind his back. The items clanked together.

"Glass!" Nancy was quite happy with her deduction, but then a puzzled frown furrowed her brow. "You bought glasses?"

Frank looked affronted. "No, of course not."

Nancy started to wrap her arms around Frank, but he saw the maneuver for what it was. "Oh no, you don't." He put a hand up to keep her at bay. "You'll find out what's in the bag when we get to the bungalow."

Nancy played coy. "You mean you don't want me hugging you or touching you until then?" Her hands were on his forearms and she peered up at him seductively.

"Nice try, Nan," Frank said and stole a quick kiss from her unsuspecting lips. "If I'd known Wal-Mart bags made you so curious and .. so amorous, I would have bought more of them."

Nancy stepped back, crossed her arms, and angled her head. One perfectly arched eyebrow twitched slightly. "It's not the bag. It's what's in it and you know it. You also know how curious I am, about everything, it's one of my failings. But I can wait. Shall we go?"

Frank smiled. So she was going to play it cool while simmering underneath. He liked it.

"I have a cab waiting outside," he said and held out his free arm. Nancy looped an arm through his and they walked out of the Police Station.

"By the way," he said, "being curious is not a failing. It's what makes you an excellent detective."

She cocked her head and smiled up at him. "I love you, Frank. Thank you for the compliment. You're an excellent detective, too."

He nudged her in the shoulder as they descended the steps in front of the Police Station. "But who solved this case? You did."

"You helped."

"A little. You're the one who figured out it was Gary. I still don't know how you did that." Frank opened the door to the cab and Nancy climbed in.

They settled themselves in the back seat and Frank tucked the Wal-Mart bag down by his feet, out of Nancy's reach. She heard the items clank together again. She was positive it was glass.

But why glass? For the moment, she was completely stumped.

Frank gave the driver the resort's address and the cab pulled away from the curb.

Nancy returned to the topic of their conversation once the cab was on the main roadway. "The photo," she said, "I recognized Gary in the newspaper photo."

"I looked at that photo, too," Frank countered, "and couldn't say for sure who that was. What made you so sure it was Gary?"

"A series of fortunate events." Nancy's dark blue eyes sparkled in the dim light of the dashboard. "You remember when we returned to the resort after our dinner at the Mexican restaurant?"

"Yes. We happened upon nearly every guest as we walked to our bungalow."

"And that was the series of fortunate events," Nancy said with a smile.

Frank cast her a dubious look.

Nancy explained, "The newspaper photo showed Daniel Jones and his wife standing outside their home on their porch. There were flowering shrubs around the porch railing. Daniel Jones had an arm around his wife."

"Yes. Yes. Yes," Frank said as Nancy listed the salient points. He still couldn't see how this led to Gary Simpson being the man in the picture.

"Well, there you have it. When we saw Gary he was standing on his bungalow porch. You might recall that his porch is surrounded by flowering shrubs."

Frank grunted an affirmative. "I do remember because you pointed it out. I believe I promised you I would try to get a bungalow with shrubs if we ever came back here."

"You did." Nancy leaned over and kissed Frank on the cheek. "And I appreciate that, but back to Gary. Lana came out of the bungalow and Gary put an arm around her. Something stirred in my mind, at the pretty picture the two of them made, standing there on their porch surrounded by beautiful flowers."

Frank was starting to see it, too. "A picture very much like the one in the newspaper," he said.

"Exactly." Nancy gave him a slow, enchanting smile. "Gary was built the same as the man in the photo. He held Lana the same way as the man in the photo."

"But that wasn't clear and convincing evidence," Frank said.

"No, it wasn't. That's why I needed the guest registers." Nancy watched the lights flash by outside the window and then said, "But the photo did point me toward Gary and away from Tim."

"Well, that's good," Frank said. "So, what's up with Molly?"

"Oh, I have an idea about that."

"Okay, tell me."

The cab pulled into the parking lot of the _Palms Resort_. The driver put the vehicle in park, threw an arm over the seatback, and turned to his customers. "That'll be twelve bucks."

Nancy opened her door, leaned out, and gazed up at the night sky. Stars glittered like diamonds on black velvet. "It's nice to be back," she sighed. To Frank, she said, "I'll tell you my theory on Molly when we get to our bungalow."

"You can't tell me now?" Frank protested as he dug his wallet out of his pocket.

Nancy eyed the bag on the floor by Frank's feet. "I can keep secrets, too, Frank Hardy." And with that she climbed out of the cab, her handbag on her shoulder, and a soft smile on her face.

She was very curious about that bag and its contents, more curious than she would ever let Frank know.

* * *

 _A/N: Aww, thank you all for the nice reviews. So glad that people are interested in Lana and what happened. There are a few more loose ends to tie up and more fluff to come. And yes, we'll see Jeremy Hill again._


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Nancy and Frank entered their bungalow. Frank had left a light on and it bathed the living room in a warm yellow glow. Nancy dropped her handbag on the kitchenette table and Frank hid the Wal-Mart bag behind the couch in the living room.

"So," Frank said turning to Nancy, "what's your theory on Molly?"

Nancy was tired. It had been a long day. First, tending to Bridget and then to Molly, and finally, a long interview at the Police station with Lana. Cramps had worked their way along Nancy's shoulders and neck. She rolled her head from side to side trying to work out some of those cramps. A shower would help relax her tight neck and shoulders, she thought.

Frank plopped on an arm of the couch and said, "Well?"

"Well," Nancy said meeting Frank's dark eyes, "I think she's pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

Nancy rolled her shoulders and swung her arms, still working on those cramps. "Yes, pregnancy would explain her extreme fatigue and her sometimes muddled thinking."

Frank whistled softly. "I hadn't noticed the muddled thoughts .. but the fatigue was kind of alarming."

Nancy smiled at him. "Pregnancy hits women in different ways. Besides, you didn't talk to Molly as much as I did. She wasn't that muddled, just enough to make me wonder, what if .."

"So, mystery solved."

"That one is." Nancy looked directly at Frank and then nodded at the back of the couch where the bag was hidden. "But there's another mystery I'm very anxious to solve."

An impish smile curled the corners of Frank's mouth and one eyebrow wiggled. "That mystery needs a little time to set up."

"Set up?" Whatever did he mean, Nancy wondered.

"Yeah, I kinda need you to .. um, not look for a while."

Nancy stared at Frank for a long second and then said, "I was thinking of taking a quick shower. Would that give you enough time to, ahem, 'set up?'"

"It would." He rose from the arm of the couch and kissed her on the cheek. "Take all the time you need."

She eyed him skeptically. "What are you up to, Frank Hardy?"

He smiled at her pleasantly and said, "That's for me to know and you to find out."

"I _am_ trying to find out," she informed him.

Frank smiled at her, but said nothing. His silence caused a bit of irritation to creep into her voice, "Well, I guess I'd better take that shower."

He watched her walk to the bedroom. She cast suspicious glances over her shoulder as she went. She ducked into the bedroom and reappeared a moment later with one of the terrycloth bathrobes the resort supplied. She cast one last, lingering glance in the living room.

Frank sat on the couch patiently waiting. "Have a nice shower," he said.

"I will," she said with a huff. She disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door a little harder than necessary.

The old saying, curiosity killed the cat, was quite applicable to Nancy Drew. She was dying of curiosity.

She picked up the bobby pins on the bathroom counter and pinned up her hair. Curiosity was definitely one of her failings. She accepted that. Throughout her life many of her investigations had been driven by curiosity only. She had an insatiable desire to _know_ the truth. In investigative work that was an asset.

However, back to tonight and to Frank and that bag. Frank was using her inane curiosity to his advantage. Nancy smiled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. He knew how to get to her, but she really didn't mind. Actually, it was kind of fun. Sort of like a cat and mouse game. Frank's little ploy with the items in the bag had her quite intrigued and dare she say, aroused. Perhaps, that was Frank's plan all along.

# # # #

Once Frank heard the shower running he got to work. He had been planning and collecting the items while Nancy was at the Police Station. Now, he took his time and set up the items.

Frank's head jerked in the direction of the bathroom when he heard the shower water stop. He smiled. Everything was in place. Just one last thing to do. He hurried to the bedroom, doffed his clothes, and slipped on the other resort supplied, terrycloth robe.

By the time Nancy opened the bathroom door, wrapped in her robe and hair still pinned up, Frank was leaning against the hallway wall with his arms crossed. Oh, and a big smile on his face.

Nancy saw the mischievous gleam in Frank's eye and stepped, tentatively, into the hall. Something was up. Her gaze darted along the hall, into the living room and into the bedroom. She noted the lighting. It was very dim. Very soft. More a glow .. like the embers of a fire.

Her senses were definitely aroused. She detected a faint scent, an aromatic smell, like that of flowers. It was a scent she was quite familiar with. The scent of the flowers she loved, the ones growing here at the resort.

She locked eyes with Frank and saw one dark eyebrow raise. He looked down at the floor then back at her. She looked down and gasped. Flower petals made a trail into the bedroom. Petals of the flowers she so-dearly loved.

A hand went to her chest and she whispered, "Frank, they're lovely." She was touched beyond words. My, he had been busy collecting all those flowers.

He pushed away from the wall and took her by the arm. "There's more," he said quietly and led her into the bedroom.

She was taken aback by the scene that greeted her. On the floor, flower petals surrounded the bed. Candles glowed and flickered on every available surface .. bedside tables and dressers.

Candles .. that's what had been in the Wal-Mart bag.

Tears sprang to Nancy's eyes. It was so romantic. She was transported to another world, a world of beauty and relaxation.

She brought her hands together, as if in prayer, and placed her fingertips to her lips. "It's beautiful, Frank. Truly beautiful."

She felt loved beyond measure. Frank had taken her by complete surprise and had touched her heart in a most compelling way. He'd gone to a lot of time and effort and it showed. The flowers, the candles, _and_ the turned down bed. He was seducing her and she liked it.

Frank pulled her to him, lowered his lips to hers, and kissed her deeply. She slipped an arm around his neck and arched into him. The kiss was long and passionate.

Later, much later, Nancy lay in bed snuggled next to Frank. She was tired – in a good way – and a little fuzzy headed. Glimpses of the night flashed through her mind as she gave into sleep.

 _Robes puddled on the floor ..._

 _His hand softly moving up her arm, over her shoulder, and into her hair._

 _Frank removing the hairpins one by one …_

 _Hot kisses and Frank sweeping her into his arms …_

 _Being laid gently on the bed. Smiling at Frank as he lay down beside her …_

 _His lips finding her lips again …_

# # # #

She was asleep, nestled in his arms, and he was at peace. Her slow, steady breathing filled the silence.

There was so much he wanted to tell her .. how much he loved her and how she had made him whole again. In his mind, they were two halves that fit together perfectly. The way her body molded to his was pure heaven.

All he'd ever wanted in life was the right woman by his side. A confident woman who could see him through the rough times. Someone who could keep him sane when the dark times arose. Every man needed a stabilizing influence.

Nancy was that and more. She didn't know it because he'd never told her, but in his mind, she made him a better person. She'd broken down the walls he'd erected after his wife, Callie, had left him. He didn't blame Callie for the break-up. She'd given him and the military a fair chance. He couldn't fault her for that. But the reality of Army life, and his line of work, was not what she wanted out of life. She was looking for something more traditional. A house, kids, the picket fence. Unfortunately, those were things he could never give her, not if he was going to be true to himself.

He preferred to be on the move and exploring new places. Callie relished staying at home and being around relatives. Give her a backyard filled with kids, trees, and a grill and she was happy. Him? Not so much. Not that he didn't like those things. He liked grilling out and spending time with friends and family – on occasion. He didn't want it to be a full-time job.

No, he needed a little more adventure in his life.

And that's where Nancy came in. She had no idea how she'd changed him – in his head and in his heart. That vivacious personality of hers had reeled him in hook, line, and sinker. Like him, she liked to be on the go. Traveling, investigating, exploring. Her impetuous nature had broken him out of his shell and made him less reserve, at least around her.

He liked her brain almost as much as her body. Don't get him started on her body. That was a separate discussion, but for the record, he liked it just fine .. actually, a lot more than fine. But back to her brain, she was smart and intelligent and easily matched wits with him.

Another thing he liked was her resilience. Just like him, she never gave up, not even in the most dire of circumstances. He knew because they'd been there. She'd saved his life once and he would never forget it.

So yes, he knew without a doubt that he could count on Nancy to 'have his back.' Not many woman had emboldened him with a true sense of protection. Nancy did. If he was being honest with himself – and he was trying to be – he'd have to say he was a little in awe of her.

Yes, he thought as he fell asleep, he was in awe of her and deeply in love.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, so this is NOT the end of the story. There's one more chapter, maybe two._

 _'Thank you' to those who have a left a review thus far. Reviews are always appreciated and nice to receive. As a side note, I've been busy helping relatives. A niece and nephew who live in Houston came to stay for a few days. Lucky for them their homes did not get flooded and they were able to return to Texas. Now, one of my daughters is helping out in the Carolinas. She's in the National Guard and they're busy preparing homes and businesses for floods and winds. We're all waiting on pins and needles to see what path Hurricane Irma will take. :/ Stay safe everyone!_


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The day dawned bright and hot. A typical Florida day. A good day to relax on the beach and take it easy. A good day to sit back and do nothing. That wasn't quite the way it worked out for Nancy and Frank. They did sleep late and missed breakfast completely.

Not a total loss, Frank said later. He and Nancy had certainly enjoyed their time together. But as lunch time rolled around they grew hungry, not only for food, but for the outside. Some food and a stroll on the beach .. maybe a quick swim, Frank said. So much to do these last few days.

And the days were precious and few now.

# # # #

There weren't many guests in the dining room when Frank and Nancy arrived for lunch. Molly greeted them with a smile. She looked rested and happy. Nancy was relieved to see the transformation.

Molly led Frank and Nancy to a table, chatting the whole. Wasn't it awful about Lana and Gary? Gary, who would have suspected him? And then Lana! Whatever had gotten into her? At least, the resort was back to normal operations and she and Tim could rest easy, put this whole nightmare behind them.

Frank and Nancy agreed.

"Here you are," Molly said. "A nice table by the windows."

Frank pulled out Nancy's chair, waited for her to get seated, and then sat across from her.

Molly told them the specials. "The chef's made clam chowder today. It's absolutely fabulous. I highly recommend it." Molly practically glowed.

Nancy smiled up at her. "You look well today, Molly. Has your appetite returned?"

Molly unconsciously rubbed her stomach. "It has, a little. This morning I was just a wee bit queasy. I'm taking it easy with my tummy though. I don't want to upset it."

"That's a good idea," Nancy said. "Um, I think I might know why you've been queasy and so tired lately."

Molly's brows rose. "Really?"

"It's only a guess, but have you considered the possibility you could be .. um, eating for two?"

Molly's jaw dropped and her eyelids fluttered. Eating for two? Was that possible? What?! Why of course, it was possible. What a silly thought! It was very, very possible!

Frank saw Molly sag like her knees might give out. He sprang up and put an arm around her. "You okay, Molly? You look a little faint."

Molly leaned on Frank for a second and let her head clear. She _had_ felt faint. The idea she might be pregnant had shocked her. But honestly, it explained all of her symptoms.

"I .. I'm fine. Thank you."

Frank held onto Molly's elbow. "You sure?"

Molly waved him off. "Yes. I'm perfectly fine. Thank you. I .. I just had to wrap my brain around .. well, around the fact I could be .." she swallowed hard, "could be pregnant."

"That's good news, isn't it?" Nancy asked, a small frown wrinkling her forehead.

Frank stayed at Molly's side. She looked steady, but he wasn't taking any chances. Couldn't have the hostess collapsing at their table.

"I .. it's .. it's just so sudden," Molly stuttered.

"It's only a possibility," Nancy said. "There are plenty of other reasons for your fatigue. You've been under a lot of stress the past week, stress could explain your extreme fatigue."

Molly waved Frank into his seat and said, "I know and you're right, Nancy. It's just that the .. the possibility of being pregnant kind of shocked me." She giggled as if suddenly delighted by the idea. Babies and baby clothes, they were so warm and soft …

"You'll need a pregnancy test to know for sure," Nancy said. "You could get one in town." Nancy was thinking of Tim and how reluctant he'd been to call a doctor. He really did worry about their financial situation.

"I could." Molly looked over her shoulder in the direction of the bar. Tim was busy serving an elderly couple. She didn't want to say anything to him until she knew for certain if she was pregnant. She turned back to Nancy. "If I can, I'll run into town later. Sometimes, it's hard to get away."

Frank came to the rescue. "We could get one for you. We were planning on going into town after lunch and doing some souvenir shopping."

Nancy smiled at Frank. He'd made that up. They hadn't talked about going into town at all, but it was incredibly nice of him to offer and she loved him for it.

Molly accepted the offer and hurried away to see to other diners.

Frank winked at Nancy and said, "Looks like we're going souvenir shopping after lunch. Hope you don't mind."

A loving smile lit Nancy's face and eyes. "Not at all. I think it was wonderful of you to offer and I'm anxious to know if Molly _is_ in fact pregnant."

Frank cocked his head and said, "Strangely, so am I."

As Nancy and Frank discussed what to order for lunch Bridget and her mother entered the dining room. Nancy watched the women surreptitiously. Bridget's mother was a dark haired, statuesque woman who carried herself with an air of dignity and authority. She directed Bridget to a table and motioned her into a seat, all without waiting for Molly, the hostess.

Molly had seen them enter and quickly arrived at their table, menus in hand. She greeted them cordially and told them the specials.

Bridget's mother did the ordering for herself and Bridget in a crisp, efficient voice. "We'll have club sandwiches _followed_ _by_ the clam chowder. You noted the _followed by_ , I hope. We'll have the sandwiches first and _then_ the chowder. We don't want them together."

Bridget partially covered her face with a hand. She looked like she wanted to slide under the table and hide.

Molly said she'd get right on those sandwiches and headed to the kitchen.

Nancy felt she now understood why Bridget had been reluctant to phone her mother after Bruce's death. Her mother did not give off the vibe of someone who could impart sympathy. To her, sympathy was probably for weaklings. At least, that was Nancy's guess.

Bridget and Nancy exchanged looks. Bridget's expression said, _What can I do? She's in charge whether I like it or not._

Nancy turned to Frank and said, "Order me the chowder. I'm going to say 'hi' to Bridget and her mother."

Frank cast a glance at Bridget's mother, made a scoffing sound, and said, "Good luck with the mother. She doesn't look like the warm and fuzzy type to me."

"Precisely why I'm going to say 'hi.' I think Bridget could use a friendly face."

Frank glanced at Bridget's mother again. "I'd say you're right."

Nancy approached the table somewhat cautiously. Bridget's mother was assailing her daughter with advice and Bridget was nodding. However, if Nancy was any judge of character, she'd say Bridget wasn't really listening. She was merely humoring her mother.

"Hi," Nancy said, "forgive me for interrupting, but I wanted to stop by and check on Bridget." She directed her comments to Bridget's mother.

"She's fine," Bridget's mother said and scanned Nancy from head to toe. "And you are?"

"This is Nancy Drew," Bridget said. "Remember, I told you about her and Frank. They've been helping the police. They're private detectives."

"Oh, yes. I remember. Nancy Drew, nice to meet you. I'm Victoria Weller."

The woman extended a hand and Nancy shook it. "Nice to meet you Mrs. Weller."

A scowl darkened the older woman's face. "It's _Ms_ not Mrs. I've tried to tell my daughter a woman doesn't need a man." Ms. Weller cast a disapproving glance in Frank's direction. "I should know, I've divorced two of them. I find I'm happier without them. Life's simpler without a husband. You can do what you want, _when_ you want. You don't have someone hoovering over you, forever making demands on your time."

There were a thousand things Nancy could say to counter _Ms._ Weller's statements, but decided to keep her mouth shut. An argument with Ms. Weller would do no one any good and it was quite obvious Ms. Weller was a woman who did not often change her opinion.

"Did you hear about Lana and Gary?" Bridget asked.

"I did," Nancy said. "Frank and I were there when she .. when Lana had her meltdown." That was putting it mildly.

"I heard she stabbed Gary," Bridget said, her voice low. "Whatever made doe-eyed Lana do such a thing?"

Ms. Weller shook her head and rolled her eyes. It was clear she felt this conversation was wildly inappropriate.

Nancy was apprehensive about what she was about to say, but in the end, felt Bridget deserved the truth. "Lana found evidence of Gary's crimes in their bungalow. She found bloody clothes he'd hidden in a suitcase."

Bridget visibly paled. The realization that some of those clothes had to have had Bruce's blood on them hit hard. It was a stark, ugly reality and one that Bridget needed a moment to come to grips with.

She took several deep breathes and finally said, "Well, I have to give her credit for attacking him. I never would've thought Lana had it in her. I can't say it's a total surprise to find out that Gary's the killer." She looked up at Nancy. "I always thought he was an odd bird."

"You did mention that to me once," Nancy said and was amazed at how accurate Bridget's perception had been.

Bridget picked up her napkin and dabbed the corner of an eye. "Seems our meek, mild Gary was hiding a horrible secret. One that cost me my .."

"Good grief," Ms. Weller hissed. "Must you two have this conversation here and now?"

Nancy, although startled, got the message loud and clear. And she did agree with Ms. Weller. This conversation would be better held in private.

"I should get back to Frank. I'll see you both at dinner?" Nancy glanced from Ms. Weller to Bridget.

Bridget sniffed and laid down her napkin. "Yes, and Nancy, we'll talk later."

That last comment piqued Nancy's interest. As she walked back to her table she caught snippets of the women's conversation.

 _We have to eat, mother. I've made friends here_.

 _Must you really interact with these people, Bridget? Wouldn't you prefer to pack and get out of here as soon as possible?_

Poor Bridget, Nancy thought. Her mother was not the kind to provide the support and love Bridget so desperately needed at this time.

# # # #

Nancy and Frank enjoyed their lunch. As promised, the chowder was absolutely delicious. Light and creamy with a delicate fish flavor. Nancy was going to miss these heavenly meals when they left. Cooking was not a skill set Nancy excelled at. She'd had a housekeeper while growing up and hadn't had much opportunity to learn the art of cooking. Hannah Gruen, their housekeeper, had seen to everything. Hannah had been an excellent cook and a surrogate mother to Nancy. Nancy had grown to love Hannah dearly. Nancy and her father could not have found a better person to watch over their home and family.

But having a housekeeper had come at a cost. Nancy's mother had been murdered when Nancy was only three years old. In one dreadful day, Nancy had lost her mother, _and her mother's love_ , due to someone's irrational act. An act of hate.

Just like Bridget, Nancy thought and looked over at Bridget and her mother. They were eating quietly, not saying much. They would get through this. _Ms_. Weller would see to it.

Nancy's mind turned to murderers. Murderers destroyed so many lives, not just the one they took. Families and friends were left behind to grieve. They, the family and friends, had no choice, they had to go on. The world demanded they keep on living, forever haunted by one incomprehensible act.

If a person wasn't careful they could wind up hating the world, blaming it for what had happened. It was easy to become envious of others. Others had what they did not … a mother, a father, sister, brother … the list went on and on.

Nancy had learned long ago that a person had to fill their heart with love and not hate. Hate destroyed a person as easily as cancer did. Love was the only way. A heart filled with love had no room for hate and jealousy, or any of those other petty, destructive emotions.

Nancy had filled her heart with love. A shy smile stole upon her lips and a soft blush warmed her cheeks. The man across from her had given her more love than she had ever thought possible. He was the light that chased away the darkness. He was steadfast in his loyalty to her and with him, she had no doubts, no second thoughts, no reservations. He would be there for her through thick and thin. His commitment to her would never waver. For all of that, and so much more, she loved him. Loved him with all her heart, today and forever.

She reached a hand across the table. He grinned and wrapped a large, strong hand around hers. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

"What are you thinking about?" His gaze was direct and intense.

Her reply was simple and honest. "I'm thinking how happy you make me and how much I love you."


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Frank and Nancy stood and prepared to leave the dining room. Nancy waved and winked at Molly. Nancy and Frank were going to head into town to get a pregnancy test for Molly.

Nancy pushed in her chair and thought, this would be fun. Sort of a secret mission. One Nancy was happy to perform. This mission didn't involve bombs, getting shot at, or mayhem. Just the kind of mission any detective would be happy to have.

From the corner of her eye, Nancy saw Bridget approaching. Bridget had left her mother alone at the table. Nancy stifled a giggle. Bridget going off on her own without consulting her mother first was probably a serious break in protocol.

"Nancy," Bridget said, "could you and Frank wait for me outside? I have something I want to give you."

"Sure," Frank said. "We'll wait on the benches outside." He pointed out the window at two wrought iron benches not far from the dining room entrance.

"Perfect," Bridget said. "I have to let my mother know where I'm going and that I won't be gone long."

Oh, yes, do keep mom informed, Nancy thought with the barest trace of a disparaging smile.

Nancy and Frank left the dining room and settled themselves comfortably on one of the benches. Bridget was as good as her word and appeared within seconds. She took a seat on the bench next to Nancy and Frank's and let out a heavy, audible sigh. She looked distressed or upset. In her hand was a slip of paper. There wasn't the slightest breeze or even the hint of a breeze, yet Bridget held onto the paper tightly as if it might blow away.

"So," Bridget said and let out another sigh, "I've been going through the bungalow and Bruce's things. I .. I found this last night." She indicated the paper in her hand. "It's a note Bruce left. It's not to me. It's just some random thoughts he wrote down. I .. um, Bruce had trouble sleeping at times. He had insomnia. This note, I .. I .." She looked from Nancy to Frank and back. "It has to do with the murders. It might be important. The police might want to see it. Oh, I don't know. It might be nothing at all. I just don't know."

"Can we look at it?" Nancy reached a hand out.

"Yes, of course. That's why I brought it. Maybe you can tell me what to do with it." Bridget handed the paper to Nancy.

Frank slid closer to Nancy as she unfolded the paper. They read it together quietly.

In the top, left hand corner Bruce had written a date. The date was the night Mr. Graves had been murdered.

Below the date Bruce had scribbled:

 _Couldn't sleep. Took a walk on the beach around 2am. Saw him creeping behind some bushes. A little guy. Kinda looked like Gary Simpson. Didn't want to confront him or talk to him. He's a weird one. Went back to bungalow and slept._

Below this Bruce had written another date. This date matched the night Bruce himself was murdered. Obviously, he'd written the following before his death.

 _Think Gary's the one. Graves showed me the picture days away. Have a plan. Going to provoke Gary tonight at dinner. Will see what happens._

Nancy looked at Frank. "Well, it explains why Bruce was rude to Gary that night at dinner."

Frank ran a hand through his hair, down his cheek, and over his chin. "Yeah, it does. Wish he'd said something to me or the detectives. It could've saved his life." He looked at Bridget sitting forlornly on the bench, her hands folded in her lap. "I'm so sorry," he said.

Bridget drew in a deep breath and shook her head sadly. "Me, too." Her emotions boiled up. "Why didn't he say something to me, to you, to someone?" she gasped.

Her fury subsided as quickly as it had arisen. That had been the trend the last two days. Extreme highs and extreme lows. She tossed her head and shrugged. There was nothing she could do now for Bruce except remember him fondly.

Her gaze was drawn to the ocean. "When I was in the hospital he sat by my bed and talked. God, how he talked. I drifted in and out of sleep and didn't catch everything he said. A lot of it didn't make sense to me, not at the time. He was angry at first. He said the police thought he had drugged me. That wasn't true, he said and he could prove it. He held my hand and told me over and over again that he'd never hurt me. 'I'd never hurt you, Bridge. I love you, you know that, don't you?'"

She wiped away a tear. In her mind she could see Bruce sitting beside her, holding her hand, telling her he loved her. He had been a good man and they'd had lots of good times together. She would cherish those memories.

She glanced at Nancy and Frank. "Bruce said not to worry, he'd show the police. He'd already figured out who killed Mr. Graves. All he had to do was prove it." She lowered her head and studied her hands a moment. Her bottom lip quivered. "God, what a fool he was."

Nancy couldn't think of anything apropos to say to that and didn't get a chance.

Bridget's mother poked her head beyond the glass doors of the dining room entrance and surveyed the group seated on the benches. A look of disapproval tightened the corners of her eyes. "I'm ordering a drink, Bridget. Would you like one?"

Bridget shook her head as if to say, can you believe her? Then turned to her mother and said, "Sure. Why the hell not?"

Ms. Weller's expertly manicured brows rose ever-so slightly and she appeared mollified. "Yes. As you say, why the hell not? You'll be in shortly?"

"Yes," Bridget said rather sharply. She avoided her mother's frosty glare by staring at her hands. In a softer tone, she said, "I'll be in very soon, mother. We're almost finished here."

"Very well." Ms. Weller gave the group one last, piercing glare and then retreated to the dining room.

"Is she gone?" Bridget asked.

"Yes," Nancy said.

Bridget kneaded her temple. "I know she means well, but at times, she can be quite trying."

"I can imagine," Nancy said with a good deal of sympathy.

Bridget dropped her hands in her lap and said, "So, what should I do about the note? Do you think the police will want it?"

Frank scooted closer to Bridget and said, "I think they will. Nancy and I are on our way into town. If you'd like, we could take the note, stop by the Police Station and show it to Ellis and Gosling."

"Oh, would you? That would be wonderful."

Nancy added a note of caution, "If they decide to keep the note as evidence you'll only get a copy of it back."

Bridget had to think about that. The note was the last thing Bruce had touched. It contained his handwriting. Scribblings really, but did she want to part with it, perhaps permanently?

"Hmm, well, if the police decide to keep it then that means it's important and that's fine with me. If it helps convict Bruce's murderer I think he would enjoy that. In a way, he would have helped bring his killer to justice and that's what he wanted." Bridget flashed a small, sad smile. "I would like a copy of the note, please, if you don't mind."

Nancy slipped the note into her handbag. "We'll see that you get one. We'll give it to you at dinner tonight."

Bridget rose and smoothed down her dress. "Thank you both very much. You've taken a huge weight off my shoulders."

# # # #

Nancy and Frank walked hand in hand down the sidewalk. They were headed for the drug store to buy the pregnancy test.

"Well," Nancy said, "Bruce's note explains why he was rude to Gary that night at dinner. Still, I can't figure out what he had planned. Was he going to confront Gary later?"

"Hard to say," Frank said. "Bruce had made fun of Gary that night. He pushed all the buttons men don't like to have pushed. Bruce might have just wandered the beach that night figuring Gary would come looking for him which he did. It wasn't the best plan in the world, but sometimes it doesn't have to be. It just has to work and in this case, it did."

"Unfortunately, it didn't work out the way Bruce had planned. He must have thought he would win in a fight against Gary." Nancy gave Frank's hand a squeeze.

"Yeah, just because Gary's a small guy doesn't mean he can't fight. Bruce misjudged his opponent and it cost him."

It had cost him dearly, Nancy thought with a shiver. Bridget was right, Bruce had been foolish.

* * *

 _A/N: And yes, the last chapter was meant to highlight Nancy's feelings for Frank. Glad to see astute reviewers caught that. Thank you to the lovely people who leave a review. On we go. I think there's one or two chapters left, but I've said that before and been wrong. I do know that there's more N/F fluff on the horizon. :)_


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

The day was getting warm. Quite warm. Nancy was glad she and Frank were on the shady side of the street. Storefronts - many with awnings - provided ample shade for passing pedestrians.

Frank pointed out a café, the _Beach Bum's Café and Bakery_. He knew Nancy's weakness for muffins.

"Want to check-out the bakery?" he asked, eyebrows lifting.

She folded one arm over her chest and rested her other arm's elbow on it. An index finger tapped her chin. Decisions, decisions.

Frank leaned over and whispered, "It wasn't a trick question, Nan. Here's what I'm thinking; later tonight we sit on our bungalow's porch and watch the sun set while enjoying a cup of tea and a muffin."

Nancy slowly tilted her head and peered up at Frank's smiling face. "You know me too well. It sounds heavenly." Now she couldn't wait for that lovely moment on the porch.

Ten minutes later they exited the café with two large muffins. One would last Nancy two days. One would last Frank five minutes.

They went to the drugstore and bought a pregnancy test. The cashier, a young woman, smiled shyly at them and eyed Nancy's stomach.

When Nancy and Frank were once again outside on the sidewalk, Nancy laughed and said, "I think the cashier thought the pregnancy test was for us."

Frank's grin was subtle. He, too, had noted the cashier's response, but his thoughts had turned to the future and _what ifs_.

"What?" Nancy said. "Is something wrong?"

Frank put an arm around her shoulders as they walked in the direction of the Police Station.

"Just thinking about the future." Frank's gaze was on the sidewalk, then shifted to the intersection and streetlight up ahead. "Just thinking what if one day .. you know .."

Nancy stopped and Frank's arm dropped from her shoulders. They stood on the sidewalk staring at each other.

"Thinking," Nancy said, "one day we might .. we might need a .. a test?"

Frank shrugged as if to downplay the idea. He was feeling his way here, being careful not to assume too much. That was a failing on his part and he knew it. He and Nancy needed to be more open in their communication. Most of the time they were, like when the issues dealt with their business or an investigation. However, when it came to matters of the heart they tended to close up. That was why he had suggested the tea and muffin this evening. They needed to talk .. alone and unguarded.

Frank studied Nancy's face. He couldn't tell how she felt about having a child. She kept her emotions as well hidden as he did. They were both going to have to lower their shields if this relationship was going to work. Yes, they definitely needed time tonight to talk and to be completely open and honest with each other.

"I think," Frank said, "we should discuss this over tea and muffins tonight."

He hadn't said it harshly or rudely. Nancy could tell there was more to what Frank had said, some hidden meaning.

She took Frank's hand in hers and said, "Okay, Frank. I'm looking forward to it."

Her soft smile eased Frank's apprehension and he smiled back. "Good. I'm looking forward to it, too."

Onward to the Police Station. They were disappointed when the desk sergeant informed them that Ellis and Gosling were not there. Nancy and Frank were about to tell the sergeant they would come back when the young police officer that had helped Nancy track down the old newspaper articles spied Nancy and Frank in the lobby.

He called out, "Hey, Miss Drew, how you doing?"

Nancy graced the young recruit with a charming smile. "Oh, Officer Paddock, nice to see you again. Frank and I came to see Detectives Ellis and Gosling. Unfortunately, they're not here."

"Oh, yeah, you probably haven't heard." Paddock looked around the lobby and thought, _too many listening ears_. "Um, how about we talk in the breakroom?"

"Sure," Frank said. "Lead the way."

"Want some coffee?" Paddock said as they entered the breakroom.

"No, thanks. We just had lunch," Frank said.

Paddock reached for a coffee mug. "Mind if I have one? It's been a while since my first."

Frank waved the young man on. "Go for it."

Paddock got his coffee, stirred cream into it, and jutted his chin at a Formica dining set shoved up against the wall. "Wanna sit?"

Nancy eyed the table top. It was littered with crumbs and old coffee stains. Memories of her days as a Chicago detective came rushing back. She didn't miss those days and unkempt breakrooms like this were one of the reasons why.

She pulled out a chair, brushed some crumbs off, and sat with her handbag on her lap. It contained her normal daily essentials, two muffins, and a pregnancy test. Nancy's arms crossed over the handbag and she felt as though she were guarding the items.

Frank took a seat between Paddock and Nancy and said, "So, what's up with Ellis and Gosling?"

"They left this morning on a helicopter with Mrs. Simpson," Paddock said. "They're flying to her house to search it. Ellis questioned Mr. Simpson early this morning in the hospital. Simpson claims he had nothing to do with the murders. He says he's innocent and he's not going to press charges against his wife for attacking him."

Nancy could see that Paddock was happy to be part of the murder investigation and pleased with how much information he had access to. Nancy remembered those days in her own life. That ever-present undercurrent of excitement.

Nancy felt positive that Lana would be relieved to learn Gary was alive and well and not pressing charges. That meant Lana would probably be released from custody soon.

Nancy looked at Paddock and said, "How is Mr. Simpson doing? Will he be out of the hospital soon?"

Paddock sipped his coffee which was not in the least bit hot. "He's fine. They stitched him up and should release him tomorrow. Then he'll be our guest for a while." Paddock smiled at his clever wording.

Frank leaned back in his chair. "So, he says he had nothing to do with Mr. Graves' murder or Mr. Tipton's?"

"That's what he says, but nobody believes it. That's why Ellis decided they had to go to Simpson's house today. They're hoping to find more evidence against him there. Right now," Paddock looked at Nancy and nodded, "your evidence is the best they have, Miss Drew. Ellis said those guest registers from the resort are like gold. The handwriting expert said the two signatures match. That proves Mr. Simpson was there twice and the woman he was with the first time, his first wife, died a few months after their visit. Of course, Mr. Simpson says she committed suicide and if we looked closely we'd see that he was a hero. He tried to save his wife, not kill her."

Nancy wondered, not for the first time, if Gary Simpson might have a bit of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy going on. She did not voice this opinion and instead, said, "I think he enjoys being viewed as a hero."

"What about the bloody clothes in his suitcase?" Frank said. "Any results on those?"

"Not yet," Paddock said with a sigh and sipped his coffee. It was definitely on the cold side now. "Once we get the DNA evidence from those clothes, and it matches Mr. Simpson's, then we'll have him dead to rights."

Yes you would, Nancy thought.

They talked a little more. Nancy told Paddock about Bruce Tipton's note and showed it him. Paddock made a copy of it and promised to give the note to Ellis and Gosling the minute they returned. Paddock said they should be back sometime this evening.

Everyone stood and pushed in their chairs. Paddock poured what little coffee remained in his mug, into the sink.

"Oh," Frank said with a snap of his fingers, "hear anything about Jeremy Hill? He was in the hospital with a collapsed lung."

Paddock shook his head. "Haven't heard a word. He's not a suspect anymore so I think Ellis and Gosling have let him off the hook."

"I'm sure they have," Frank said. "Seems Hill was a thief and not a murderer. Well, thanks for the information." Frank held out a hand and Paddock shook it.

Nancy draped her handbag over her shoulder and she and Frank left the Police Station. As they walked outside and into the bright sunshine, Nancy's thoughts were of Jeremy Hill. He was still an enigma. He still baffled her in many ways. She had questions regarding his actions. Like, why had he attacked her that day in the Tipton's bungalow?

Nancy hoped to have an answer to that question before she and Frank left Florida.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been traveling far and wide. It's always nice to come home and a little sad, too. Now I have to focus and get this story finished. ;)_

 _P.S. Thank you to those who have a left a review. That's very kind of you and much appreciated. :)_


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

Nancy and Frank returned to the _Palms Resort_ ready to enjoy what was left of the afternoon. But first, the pregnancy test for Molly. Nancy and Frank found Molly in the dining room supervising the set-up for the coming evening's dinner service.

Molly dismissed the two waiters she'd been talking to and turned to greet her friends. "Nancy, Frank! We're going to have a band tonight after dinner."

"That'll be fun," Nancy said and meant it. For her, tonight was a night to celebrate. To reward herself, and Frank, for helping solve the case.

"We have something for you," Frank said and nodded at Nancy, indicating her handbag.

Nancy took her handbag off her shoulder and withdrew the pregnancy test. It was wrapped in the store's plastic shopping bag. No need to advertise the contents, Nancy thought as she handed the bag to Molly.

Molly appeared a bit anxious as she took it. "Well, this is it," she said and took a deep breath. She let out the breath slowly and glanced at Frank and Nancy. "Thank you both so much for doing this for me. How much do I owe you?"

Frank grinned and lowered his voice, "Just the answer. Yes or no, are you pregnant?"

"We're dying to know," Nancy added with a tender smile.

Molly sighed and put a hand on her cheek. This was real. She might be pregnant. In some ways it was hard to wrap her mind around that possibility, maybe because she hadn't said a word to her husband yet. But that would soon change if the answer was indeed ' _yes_.'

Nancy gave Molly a quick hug and whispered in her ear, "We'll see you at dinner."

Nancy and Frank left the dining room and traveled the now very familiar wooden path to their bungalow.

"How 'bout a swim and some lounging on the beach?" Frank said as they walked along, his hand in hers.

Nancy smiled up at him. "I think you just read my mind."

The couple dashed into their bungalow, their mood jubilant. They changed into swimsuits (which had been sorely underused on this vacation), grabbed a couple of beach towels, and headed out to stake a claim on the beach. They picked a spot well away from the other bathers and sat down on their towels. The sun was warm and the sand hot. Nancy took out a bottle of sunscreen and rubbed some on her shoulders. Frank was happy to apply the lotion to her back. He liked the way she squealed and flinched when the cold cream touched her skin. This girlish reaction endeared her to him. It made her a wee bit vulnerable and, for some reason he couldn't quite explain, it made him love her all the more.

They spent the afternoon indulging in the ocean. They swam out a good distance and body-surfed back to shore. A walk along the beach brought smiles and sadness as they watched their footprints disappear in the waves. An abandoned kiddie bucket brought back childhood memories of days spent on the beach and they built a sand castle. It would never win any prices, but they were proud of it nonetheless.

They swam some more until hunger pangs told them dinnertime was drawing near. With heavy hearts they gathered up their towels and said good-bye to the beach, to the ocean, to the waves and fading sun. Hand-in-hand they strolled to their bungalow.

"Today was fun," Nancy said as she climbed the stairs to their bungalow. "I love the beach. I want to go for another swim tomorrow."

"Me, too," Frank said. He was at the bottom of the steps and had a very nice view of Nancy's backside. His gaze traveled over her body. Her hair hung in long, damp tangles down her back. Her skin had a healthy glow from a day in the sun and water. His gaze fell lower, to the swell of her hips and the curve of her waist. To the dusting of sand on her legs and feet. Yes, it was a very nice view.

# # # #

It took Nancy almost two hours to get ready for dinner. She wanted to look her absolute best for Frank. She sensed deep in her heart that tonight was important. Frank had gone very quiet today when they were in town when she'd asked about them one day needing a pregnancy test. He hadn't answered her and instead had said he wanted to discuss things over tea and muffins tonight. Nancy thought she knew what Frank wanted to discuss.

 _Marriage_.

Her skin tingled at the thought. Calm down, she told herself. She might be jumping to conclusions. Best not to get her hopes up.

She returned to getting ready. Curled her hair and applied the barest hint of make-up. Just enough to enhance, not overwhelm. She studied her reflection in the mirror and thought back to how she and Frank had met. It was almost two years ago in Chicago. They'd both been working a missing woman case. Nancy had been a detective with the Chicago PD, Frank a PI working for his father's agency. The case had brought the two of them together. Well, three of them if you counted Joe, Frank's brother.

The attraction between Nancy and Frank had been instantaneous, but they'd hidden it. Joe had pretended not to notice the subtle sparks flying between his partners. Very diplomatic of him, Nancy thought with a smile.

Nancy and Frank hadn't acted upon their feelings until the case was resolved and Joe was headed home to Bayport, New York. Frank had decided to stay an extra night in Chicago so he and Nancy could go out and get to know each other better. They'd enjoyed a lovely dinner and discussed their pasts over food and drinks. Later, they'd enjoyed some heavy kissing in the parking lot of Frank's hotel. It had all seemed so innocent and playful at the time. But those kisses had proved lethal, they'd left a lasting impression and neither person could get the other out of their mind. There was something there, something more than lust and they both knew it .. felt it.

They'd kept in touch, quit their jobs, and started a detective agency together. Joe had partnered with them, too. To their credit they all worked well together.

Still worked well together, Nancy told herself.

She was almost ready and called out to Frank, "Ten more minutes and I'll be ready to go. Sorry I'm taking so long."

Frank was at the dinette table with pen and paper in front of him. "Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

He was hungry so she could hurry on that account, but otherwise he wasn't in a rush. He'd spent the time writing a note, probably the most important note of his life. The words had to be perfect. Actually, everything about the note had to be perfect. Handwriting, spelling, the words ...

He'd written several versions of what he wanted to say and had found fault with all of them. Those discarded notes filled the waste basket. Now, he looked down at what he thought was the perfect version. The handwriting was flawless. There were no misspellings and the words conveyed what he wanted them to convey.

He read the note one last time and then slipped it into a cupboard to hide it. He took two teacups out of the cupboard and set them on the table next to the bag of muffins. Everything was ready for tonight. For after dinner.

# # # #

They entered the dining room, Nancy on Frank's arm and a rosy glow to her cheeks. The dining room was busy. New faces peered at them from among the guests. Nancy was glad to see that the recent murders had not adversely affected the resort's business. By her estimate business was booming tonight. Tim and Molly should be happy about that especially if there was a little one on the way. And thinking of little ones .. Nancy scanned the room for Molly. Usually, she was right at the door waiting to greet guests.

Ah, there she was depositing a bottle of wine on a table and chatting with some new guests. Molly finished her conversation and turned her head to check the dining room entrance. She spotted Nancy and Frank waiting to be seated. A huge smile lit Molly's face as she hurried to greet her friends.

Frank nudged Nancy's shoulder and whispered, "If Molly's smile is any indicator I think we know the answer to whether she's pregnant or not."

Nancy lifted her chin and one eyebrow rose slightly. "I still want to hear _her_ say it. For all we know she could be relieved she's _not_ pregnant. They haven't been married all that long and they do have a business to run. A little one could .."

Molly grabbed a couple of menus off a stand near the entry and stepped close to Nancy and Frank. "I am!" she gushed. "The answer is yes! I mean, I'm pregnant."

Nancy was momentarily stunned into silence and Frank chuckled. It was rare to see Nancy speechless. Her befuddled expression amused him.

"Congratulations," Frank said to Molly. "Nancy and I are very happy for you and Tim. How'd he take the news?"

"Oh, well .. um." Molly rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He's as surprised as I am. He .. he's happy. Actually, he's ecstatic. He wants a boy. I don't care as long as it's healthy."

Nancy finally came out of her daze and said, "I'm so happy for both of you. We have to exchange email addresses so you can keep me posted on everything. I want to know when the little bundle's due. Again, I'm so happy for both of you."

The women fell into a long, heartfelt hug.

When the hug ended Molly said, "Here, let me seat you two. As you can see we have almost a full house tonight." She whispered over her shoulder as she led them to a table, "Mind you, neither Tim nor I are complaining."

"I'm glad to see that business is good," Frank said.

He pulled out a chair for Nancy and she sat at the table Molly had chosen for them. Frank took a seat across from Nancy and Molly laid menus in front of each of them.

"A glass of wine or a cocktail to start you off?" Molly asked.

"Wine sounds good," Frank said and looked at Nancy for confirmation.

"Wine sounds perfect."

Molly hurried away, more guests were waiting to be seated.

"Don't look now," Frank said to Nancy (her back was to the entrance), "but Mr. North, Greta Swan, and Jeremy Hill have just arrived."

Nancy's eyes met Frank's and widened. "They have? How's Jeremy look?"

"You'll see for yourself. Looks like they'll pass right by our table."

And indeed they did. Mr. North was in his wheelchair. Tonight, Greta Swan was the one pushing it. Jeremy Hill was in no shape to push a wheelchair. Truthfully, he looked like he could use one himself. He walked slowly. His left arm was in a sling and pressed tightly against his chest.

Nancy's jaw dropped when she saw Jeremy. Limp blond hair framed his pale, drawn face. His icy blue eyes were bloodshot and beneath them dark smudges seemed to have taken up permanent residence. Clearly, he was a man in pain. Each step brought a grimace, but he forged on. He didn't look at the other guests. His eyes stayed focused on the floor until he came to Nancy. Then he stopped and looked her in the eye. She saw something there .. in his expression …

The set of his shoulders and angle of his head said he didn't want to move for fear of provoking shooting pains. His posture suggested defensiveness, tension, and a good degree of guilt.

"I'd .." he was hesitant and unsure, "I'd like to speak to you when possible, Miss Drew."

Nancy's gaze darted to Mr. North. Greta Swan had halted the wheelchair and it appeared Mr. North, as well as Jeremy, was waiting for Nancy's response.

Nancy glanced at Frank before saying, "Now would be fine."

Upon hearing this answer Greta Swan and Mr. North processed on to their table where Molly was laying out menus.

Frank rose from his chair and said, "Have a seat, Jeremy. I'm going to the bar to congratulate Tim."

Frank sensed Jeremy wanted a private conversation with Nancy and Frank saw no reason to deny it. Frank gave Nancy a meaningful look before he left her alone with Jeremy.

Jeremy nodded his thanks at Frank and eased himself very carefully onto Frank's chair. It was several seconds before he was ready to talk.

When he finally spoke his voice held a trace of remorse, "I .. I wanted to apologize."

His head came up and his eyes settled on Nancy's. She saw the desire for forgiveness flicker in Jeremy's eyes. She also saw his swollen right cheek. The flesh around it was yellow and green now. Frank had landed a powerful punch. Nancy thought Jeremy would not soon forget Frank Hardy.

However, Nancy was kindhearted by nature and felt some sympathy for Jeremy – for his pain and his need for forgiveness.

"Apologize?" Nancy said and one eyebrow rose a smidge.

Jeremy nodded slowly. "For when I attacked you. You know, when you were snooping in the Tipton's bungalow." A trace of mischief had crept into Jeremy's voice and a bit of a mocking smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

Nancy sat very still. She knew what Jeremy was implying; that she, too had been _in the wrong_ that day. Couldn't she forgive him just a little for his bad behavior?

Not in her book. "I remember that day very well," she said. The sharpness in her tone cut like a knife.

Jeremy's smile vanished and he stared at Nancy for a long moment before saying, "Look, my job with North depends on this .. this apology." He lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. "Truthfully, North'll probably fire me no matter what. He says he hasn't decided yet but he insisted I apologize to you. And for what it's worth, I agree. I have no problem saying I'm sorry to a beautiful woman." That mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again.

So far, this apologize was doing nothing to alter Nancy's opinion of Jeremy Hill. She glared at him through narrowed eyes. "I have a question, Mr. Hill. What were you doing that day in the Tipton's bungalow?"

"Oh, that." It was obvious this question made Jeremy uncomfortable. "You want the truth. Yeah, of course you do." He stared at Nancy a second and then shrugged like he didn't care, like nothing mattered anymore. "Okay, I went there to return some things I'd stolen a day or two before."

He saw Nancy's eyes widened and her nostrils flare.

"Yeah, I'm a thief. North told me you and Frank had already figured that out. Look, I was returning the stuff. Believe it or not, my conscious was bothering me." He ran a hand over the back of his neck and let out a weary breath. "After you and I discovered Mr. Graves dead .. well, it made me look at things differently. I knew that if North ever found out I'd stolen from the guests here he'd fired me. He'd warned me about that when he'd hired me."

Jeremy's expression softened. "There's something about you, Miss Drew. You made me see things in a new light." His eyes, so intense and penetrating, pleaded for understanding.

Nancy pursed her lips and a wrinkle creased her brow. She knew full well that Jeremy was playing on her sympathies. He would get some, but not much.

"So, you returned the items and then decided to attack me? Why? I didn't even know you were there. You could have let me leave the bungalow and I would have been none the wiser."

Jeremy looked down at the table and then up at Nancy. "I thought you'd seen me and I didn't want you running to North."

Nancy shook her head and frowned at the broken man sitting across from her. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"I don't know what to say other than it's the truth."

Nancy wondered if Jeremy was holding back something, some piece of information. She found him difficult to read tonight and wondered if she cared. She decided she didn't and also decided she could at least be gracious. "I accept your apology and hope you make a full recovery. I'm surprised to see you out and about in your condition."

"Mr. North insisted. He wanted to make sure I apologized to you."

Nancy bowed her head and said, "Well, you have and I've accepted. You can tell Mr. North that. I hope the three of you enjoy your dinner."

Whatever Jeremy felt was hidden beneath a mask of bruises and a calm exterior. He pushed to his feet and slowly made his way to Mr. North and Greta Swan. He glanced back once at Nancy before taking a seat at his table. Mr. North immediately inquired as to how the conversation with Miss Drew went. Nancy imagined Jeremy would be truthful with his employer. There was no reason not to be.

Nancy picked up her napkin and laid it on her lap. Well, she had an answer, sort of, as to why Jeremy had attacked her. She did not have time to contemplate Jeremy. Frank appeared with two glasses of wine and placed one in front of her.

He eased onto his chair and said, "How'd it go with Jeremy?"

"He apologized for attacking me. He said he was returning items he'd stolen from the Tiptons."

"A thief with a change of heart," Frank said with a smirk and a doubtful frown.

"Seems so. How's Tim? Excited about being a father?" Nancy smiled and picked up her wine glass.

"Excited and scared to death." Frank lifted his glass. "To Tim and Molly and their new addition."

Nancy touched her glass to Frank's and then sipped. Frank smiled at her, one of those smiles that made her feel loved and cherished.

She lifted her glass and said, "To us. I love you, Frank Hardy."

He clinked glasses with her and said, "I love you, too. Forever and always."

* * *

 _A/N: One more chapter to go and I'm sure it's the 'one' you've all been waiting for. I'm not saying any more than that for fear I might give something away. :)_

 _I also wanted to say 'thank you, thank you, thank you' to everyone who left a review on the last chapter. You all totally surprised me and touched my heart. Thanks again and so glad you are enjoying the story._


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

The dinner service was coming to an end. Guests with small children had already departed for the quiet of their bungalows. Mr. North, Greta, and Jeremy had made an early departure, too. The band was on stage testing their sound equipment.

"We're staying for a few songs, aren't we?" Nancy asked.

Frank reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Of course."

Tim Kincaid walked to the microphone on stage and cleared his throat. "Ahem, good evening everyone. Thanks for coming and I hope everyone stays for the band. They're really popular around here and we're happy to have them for the next two nights. They'll be starting any minute but before they do I wanted to make an announcement." He paused, sucked in a quick breath, and let it out. "A few hours ago my lovely wife, Molly .." He sought Molly in the crowd and smiled at her. "Well, she told me .. she said we're going to be parents. We expecting our first child."

The guests burst into cheers and much clapping. Nancy and Frank joined in with great enthusiasm.

Tim was clearly surprised by this response. He lifted his hands to quiet the guests. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Your support means a lot to my wife and me. I .. I have to admit that I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm going to be a dad. It's kinda scary."

Laughter erupted around the room and one guest shouted out, "It's scary as hell."

Everyone laughed some more and cheered. Love filled the room. It was an inescapable essence that wove the guests together. They smiled at one another and simultaneously lifted their glasses.

Someone yelled, "Here's to Tim and Molly!"

Everyone responded with a hearty, "Here, here!"

Molly joined Tim on stage and he slipped an arm around her waist. Both were overwhelmed by this spontaneous outpouring of love.

"Thank you," Tim said, "and in celebration of our good news Molly and I are offering a complimentary bottle of wine to every table."

This announcement prompted more cheers. Tim and Molly left the stage amid clapping and shouts of, "Congratulations."

"Do we want a bottle of wine?" Frank asked Nancy.

"No, I'm more interested in dancing." She treated him to a disarming smile.

The band started up as waiters passed out bottles of wine. Nancy grabbed Frank by the hands and led him to the area designated as the dance floor. She was ready for a night of dancing, for a night of fun. Other couples joined them as they neared the dance floor. Frank twirled Nancy around and she laughed. Her heart was carefree and her mood jubilant. Wasn't that the way it should always be?

Frank's arms went around her and pulled her close. Instantly, she was acutely, achingly aware of him. Of his scent, his heat, his body. He was all hard planes and deliciously solid. A comforting presence. She lifted her head and met his warm, brown eyes. He gazed at her, peered straight into her heart. He had that power.

He moistened his lips with his tongue and she knew what he was thinking. They could read each other's thoughts. An exquisite shudder ran through her with a stabbing ache. She lowered her eyes, conscious of the desire shining in them.

They danced to the slow song, her head on his chest. She was flush with excitement and love. True love she thought, this was what true love felt like. She was the happiest, luckiest woman in the world.

# # # #

It was nearly eleven p.m. when they got to their bungalow. Nancy was too wound up for bed.

"Muffins and tea?" she said as Frank slid his key into the front door lock. She'd been thinking about those muffins most of the day.

Frank opened the door and switched on a light. "Muffins and tea coming up." He leaned over and kissed her on the nose.

She responded by kissing him on the lips. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable."

"I'll follow suit after I get the tea kettle started."

Nancy disappeared into the bedroom and changed into shorts and an old, comfortable t-shirt. The shirt had seen her through many an investigation and many a trip. It was her go-to shirt when she wanted to unwind and relax. And that was exactly what she wanted to do now.

She went to the bathroom and brushed her hair and teeth. Then she returned to the kitchenette. Frank had teacups, teabags, plates, spoons, and muffins arranged on the table. Nancy smiled softly to herself. Frank was very thoughtful and organized.

He came out of the bedroom wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Seemed they were on the same wavelength tonight.

The kettle whistled and Nancy turned off the heat.

They prepared their tea and carried their cups and plates of muffins onto the porch and sat on the cushioned wicker couch. Nancy placed her steaming tea on a side table and her plate on her lap.

A crescent moon bathed the ocean in blue-gray light. The night was spellbinding. The moon and stars simply magical.

Nancy broke off a piece of her muffin and popped it in her mouth. "I love it out here," she said. "It's so peaceful, so relaxing."

Frank sipped his tea. "Just the way the beach should be. A place to soothe your soul."

Nancy looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Exactly." She had been thinking the same thing. She marveled at how often she and Frank had similar thoughts.

They ate in silence, enjoying the night breeze, the gentle cascade of waves upon the shore, and the intermittent chirping of crickets. The night was indeed magical.

Nancy finished her muffin, tucked a leg under her, and sipped her tea. She was completely relaxed. This was the way nights should be especially when you were with the person you loved.

She peered at Frank over the rim of her cup. His face was partially hidden in shadow. The only light was that which seeped around the curtains of the living room window. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

Usually he hated that question. Not tonight. He met her gaze and said, "I'm thinking how lucky I am to have you in my life."

She smiled. "Would you believe me if I told you I was thinking the same thing earlier tonight?"

He set his tea down and gave her his full attention. His eyes were black coals and his gaze, direct and intense. This was the Frank that roused all of her emotions. "I'm glad to hear it. That makes what I want to say easier."

Nancy took a breath and her heart fluttered. "Oh?"

Frank thought it through before he spoke. Women liked deep conversations. He wasn't much given to those, but sometimes …

Nancy finished her tea and placed the empty cup on the table beside the couch. She knew Frank was gathering his thoughts and didn't want to rush him. She felt no need to. There was something comfortable and reassuring about Frank. It had been that way since they'd met.

His dark eyes looked up from under dark brows. His expression was tender and expressive. "How long have we known each other?"

She thought about it and said, "Fourteen months, gave or take a month."

"Yes," he said, his voice low and soothing. "And in that time I've come to a conclusion, a conclusion I hope you share. I think we belong together."

She stared at him a moment, thought about what he'd said and what it meant. Her gaze drifted to the ocean and the moon shining above. Was he saying what she thought he was?

He sensed something vulnerable in her, a reluctance. It was a part of her that spoke to his soul. He knew that reluctance well. He had felt the same in the past. Now, he was older and wiser and ready to commit. He wanted to make their relationship permanent.

Nancy turned back to him, her heart pounding.

"I love you," he said and moved closer. He took her hand in his.

She was flooded with emotion. Good emotion. "I love you, too. I should say it more often." She truly meant those words. Frank was a man who deserved to hear those words every day.

"I should say it more often, too." He leaned closer, his eyes closing and his lips moving toward hers.

They kissed long and deeply. The kiss was all it should have been and all it was meant to be; a declaration of love.

When the kiss ended they sat with their foreheads pressed together, their hands entwined, and their knees touching.

Frank drew in a shaky breath and lifted his head. "I .. I have something I want to say."

Nancy felt his leg tremble.

He let go of her hands and turned to the side table, picked up a note card and turned back to her. He met her gaze and held it. "I .. I wrote down what I wanted to say." He paused a beat, he was having trouble stilling his nervous heart. "I .. here … please, read this." His throat had gone tight. His heart was racing.

Nancy gingerly took the note and held it near the light spilling from the curtained window.

 _Nancy,_

 _I have traveled through time and distance to find you. With one kiss you stole my heart. It belongs to you completely, forever and always._

 _Every day you brighten my world with your fun-loving ways. You are generous and kind and have made me a better man._

 _Make me the happiest man in the world and say you'll marry me._

 _I love you,_

 _Frank_

Tears welled and Nancy blinked them away. Be still my beating heart, she thought. These words, the words on the note, had come from the deepest part of Frank's heart. The note was a keepsake, something she would cherish forever. It would be framed and hung in their home, a constant reminder of their love.

A small thought wiggled its way into her mind; this note might outlast them. Future generations would read these words and know the love Frank had had for her.

She laid the note on her lap, looked into Frank's eyes, and said, "Yes, I'll marry you."

She put her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply.

Later, they cleaned up the cups and plates and walked to the ocean. They walked along the shore, the waves washing over their bare feet.

Nancy leaned into the man she intended to marry and felt his arm settle around her shoulders.

"Are you sure about this?" he said. "About the ring?"

"One hundred percent," she said. "I don't need a ring, Frank. Not now. Maybe never." She stopping, turned, and faced him. "You're what I want. You're all I need. I have your love and your heart. That's more than enough."

His hands came up and cupped her face. "Still, I'd like to get you a ring."

"Maybe when we get home then," she said and he kissed her.

# # # #

The next day Nancy felt new and different. She was an engaged woman, something she had never been before. Her step was light and bouncy as she and Frank strolled to the dining room for breakfast. Nancy couldn't wait to tell Molly about the engagement.

Bridget and her mother came out of their bungalow and Bridget waved to Nancy and Frank. "Good morning," Bridget called out. Her mother followed her down the porch stairs, looking none too happy to see Nancy and Frank again.

"Good morning," Nancy said and waved back.

Bridget hurried up to Nancy and Frank. "I'm glad I caught you two this morning. Mother and I are leaving today right after breakfast. I'd hoped to see you at dinner last night, but mother wasn't feeling well so we ordered room service and ate on the bungalow's porch. I wanted to ask, what did the detectives say about Bruce's note? Can they use it?"

"They're going to keep it," Frank said. "They might need it if this case goes to trial and it looks like it might. Gary insists that he's innocent. He says he had nothing to do with the murders."

A disgusted frown creased Bridget's brow. "Bull hockey."

Frank and Nancy laughed. Nancy saw Bridget's mother shaking her head wearily as she approached the group. She had no patience for such talk.

Nancy opened her handbag and withdrew a sheet of paper. "Here's a copy of the note. I added the police department's address at the bottom and detectives' names and phone numbers so you can keep in touch with them."

Bridget took the note and gave Nancy a quick hug. "Thanks, Nancy. I appreciate this. I see you've added your email address and phone number, too." She smiled at Nancy. "Great, I might give you a call one day."

"Or drop me a line and let me know how you're doing," Nancy said. "Oh, and Frank and I have some news." She looked up at Frank and smiled. "We're getting married. He proposed last night."

"What?! Why that's fantastic. I'm so happy for you both." Bridget hugged Nancy again and whispered in her ear, "You're a lucky gal. He's a keeper."

Bridget's mother had borne all she could bear. What little patience she possessed had ran out. "I'm going in, Bridget. I'll get us a table."

"Okay, mom." Bridget barely glanced at her mother. Instead, she looked from Nancy to Frank and back. "Let me know when the wedding is. I just might come. And by the way, I'm not a bad photographer. I could take a few pictures for you."

"How about now?" Frank said. "I'd like a nice photo of Nancy and me to send to everyone when we text them the news."

"That's a wonderful idea," Nancy said and beamed at Frank.

Frank handed Bridget his phone and the next few minutes were spent getting just the right pose. Palm trees and beach in the background, a smiling Nancy and Frank in the foreground, arms wrapped around each other.

# # # #

Molly greeted the _news_ with a shriek and a bear hug.

Tim was more subdued. "So, you're ready to take the plunge?" he said to Frank.

"Yeah." Frank watched Nancy and Molly hug. "More than ready."

"Well, congrats, man." Tim clapped Frank on the shoulder and shook hands with him. "Hey, you could have the wedding here."

"That's not a bad idea. I'll have to run it by Nancy. We haven't talked about dates yet."

"Well, when you do, keep us in mind. Molly and I would love to have you here and we'll give you a good deal."

"I'll let you know," Frank said. He rather liked the idea of getting married at the _Palms Resort_ in Florida.

# # # #

Nancy and Frank spent the afternoon on the beach soaking up the sun. Frank managed to call Detective Ellis and inquire about the latest developments regarding Gary Simpson.

When Frank finished the call he relayed what he'd learned to Nancy. "Ellis and Gosling found old insurance papers in a safe deposit box Gary had at his local bank. The insurance papers were for his two previous wives, the ones he apparently murdered."

Nancy stretched out on her towel and rolled onto her stomach. "That should put a few more nails in his coffin."

"That and the DNA evidence. It came back this morning. The blood on the bloody clothes in the suitcase match Gary, Graves, and Bruce Tipton."

Nancy adjusted her bikini top and pushed a strand of hair over her shoulder. "Sounds like Ellis has an airtight case to me."

"Ellis thinks so, too. He said Gary has grown quiet. He's not proclaiming his innocence quite so loudly anymore."

Nancy propped herself on one elbow. "What about Lana? Is she still in custody?"

"No, she was released this morning. She stayed behind in the house she and Gary were renting. Ellis said the few things she left here will be packed up by the police and eventually sent to her."

"Well," Nancy said, "I think that settles this case. I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a swim."

"Me, too. I just need to do one more thing." Frank picked up his phone and found the picture of him and Nancy that Bridget had taken that morning.

Nancy moved onto Frank's towel and watched as he added a text message and then sent both, picture and message, to their families.

"All done," Frank said, smiling at Nancy. "I'll race you to the ocean."

"You're on."

They got to their feet, counted to three, and ran toward the crashing waves.

# # # #

Joe Hardy locked the front door of the _Endeavor Detective Agency_ and turned out the lights. He left through the back door, locked it, and walked the short distance to a local bar and grill. His fiancée, Vanessa Bender, had gotten there first. He nodded hello to her and slid onto the chair next to hers. She'd gotten a table in the back and away from the bar.

"I ordered you a beer," she said.

"Thanks." His phone pinged and he tugged it off his belt. He looked at the screen, smiled, and shook his head. "Well, will you look at that?" He handed the phone to Vanessa so she could see the picture and text.

"Oh my god! This is wonderful. Did you know this was going to happen?"

"I had no clue," he said, "but I'm happy for them. It's about time."

Vanessa handed back the phone. "We'll have to have a toast. Oh, here's your beer and my wine."

They toasted privately to Nancy and Frank. Joe took one last look at his phone, at the picture of Nancy and Frank. He'd never seen his brother so happy. The text was simple and understated:

 _She said, yes!_

And that's all that mattered, Joe thought as he leaned over and kissed his fiancée.

 _The End_

* * *

 _A/N: So, we come to the end of the story. A very special 'thank you' to those who have left a review or a few kinds words. Those are always appreciated and nice to receive. You all have been very, very kind._

 _I'm working on another story, but it's not one that most of the readers for this story will be interested in. It's more akin to my story "Meet Me at Midnight." It's more gritty and edgy. It features N, F, J, and V and Joe will be more front and center in that story._

 _I will eventually get back to N &F solving another mystery together. I have several beginning chapters to stories featuring just them. But for now, I will say good-by until next time. Take care everyone! :)_


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